


Cinders Bound by Golden Crown

by AJ_Constantine



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alpha Aziraphale (Good Omens), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Alternate Universe - Human, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Fairy Tale Retellings, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Omega Crowley (Good Omens), Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 117,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26175502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJ_Constantine/pseuds/AJ_Constantine
Summary: Good Omens Cinderella Alpha Omega AUFrom the far end of the ballroom the Prince’s eyes suddenly locked on Crowley. He raised his arm up slowly to the dias Crowley was on, his hand held out beseechingly. Shuddering  under the intensity of that blazing gaze, his conflicting instincts to flee and move closer settled as Crowley suddenly knew with a clarity that brought a calm wash soothing over the jagged edges of his seething emotions that he was incapable of not going to the bright Alpha calling to him silently.Just breathe.He inhaled shakily and began descending the steps down. Prince Aziraphale mirrored him, stepping forward with slow purposeful steps. The sea of nobles between them parted as if by magic in the spreading silence of the ballroom as they moved closer. He stopped at the edge of the dance floor, his hand slowly rising to settle in the Prince’s outstretched one. The touch felt grounding, soothing the inner burning longing searing his insides at the sensation of being held, even if only by the curl of the firm fingers beneath his own. The Prince looked at Crowley’s face searchingly and then asked quietly, in a voice ringing with steady intent, “May I have this dance?”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 930
Kudos: 453





	1. The Fall Into Cinders

**Author's Note:**

> _I grew up reading a lot of fairy tales, legends and mythology and when I recently read some Good Omens fairytale AU’s I became enchanted by the idea of writing a story to that theme. Suddenly this story was begging to burst forth from my brain like Athena springing fully formed from Zeus’s forehead. A writing frenzy gripped me mercilessly and I was sneaking off at every opportunity to fling words down on the page as fast as I could. Until I stuttered to a slow crawl near the ending anyway; I’ve discovered that figuring out how to wrap things up is a particular challenge for me. But overall I enjoyed the heck out of writing it._
> 
> _I was also inspired by reading some Alpha/Omega AUs that I’ve been itching to explore in my own writing. So… why not combine all the things I like into one fic?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**CONTENT WARNING:** The end to this chapter, after Crowley leaves the Pulcifiers has references of child abuse, and describes abuse of an adult. PLEASE DO NOT READ it if you are sensitive to that kind of topic. _
> 
> _The basic Alpha/Omega elements in this story are: there are no non-consensual sexual scenarios, no rutting/ heat, no knotting, and their physical form is that of their primary gender. The only unusual physical biology is that Omega males can be impregnated and bear children, which I only did because this story kind of required that set up. Alphas and Omegas have instincts that motivate them to behave in certain ways but they are not animals, they are humans and can have control over their behavior if they chose to._
> 
> _Primary gender pairings: In this AU the same primary gender pairings (male/male or female/female) are accepted but not particularly common, just as same gender pairings are a lower percentage in the real world. However, there is a societal expectation to produce heirs, so in that case same-sex pairings are frowned upon unless it’s a male with an Omega male who can be impregnated._

Crowley trudged back to the well to obtain a fresh bucket of water for cleaning. He had finally finished scrubbing the stove which was blackened from frequent use and he looked down at his hands with a grimace, knowing from experience that the ashes would be embedded in his cuticles and crevices of his hands for days or more. The lines on his palms shook out in stark contrast against his pale skin. It made him think of the traveling fortune teller he watched in town from a distance one day as she plied her trade by reading palms for a few coins. He wondered what she would make of his palm. Would she make up some fantastically improbable story of him being swept off his feet by a handsome prince or would she hunch muttering over his hand, then look up at him sadly, the truth of his future written in the regret in her dark eyes?

He shook his head sharply to try to banish such morose thoughts and rubbed his hand ineffectually against his trousers to try to wipe more of the grime off. At least the dark clothing he wore was practical; his black trousers and dark gray shirt reasonably hid the grime that his daily chores created.

He had a dim memory of loving bright colors when he was younger, wearing a bright blue shirt that clashed with the sage green waistcoat and orange cravat he would put on when he was— maybe four? He remembered his father chuckling fondly at him as he proudly announced that he had gotten dressed all by himself that day. The small smile at the memory faded as he recalled that his bright colors were quickly banished when his father married his stepmother. She sternly insisted that any children under her roof would be dressed as appropriate to their station, rather than such apparently offensive garish colors. His Beta father had tried, suggesting that letting Crowley indulge was harmless fun, but his new Alpha wife had persuaded him with honeyed words and firm steel underneath that surface charm, and eventually in his affable way his father had acquiesced, saying that perhaps as a woman she knew best.

He sighed. He had never understood how his father couldn’t see past his stepmother’s traditional beauty and flawless pedigree to the cold calculating person underneath. Perhaps he would have, with time, but his father’s fatal fall from his horse when he was six prevented that possibility as the whole household was plunged into chaos. Suddenly his stepmother transformed from someone who had appeared to be aloof but politely pleasant to him, who he wanted desperately to please as his new mother, to someone who regarded him with undisguised disgust whenever she laid eyes on him. The sudden change was bewildering and made him cry even more, his little heart already hurting at the loss of his papa.

It wasn’t until he was much older that he realized she had likely just pretended to have affection for him when his papa was alive and when he died she had no reason to hide her true feelings. His relationship with his step brother and sister, already not close, deteriorated as they emulated their mother’s example. Ligur as a young Alpha boy was already prone to aggressive behavior, and with his mother’s unspoken permission he gleefully made Crowley’s life miserable at frequent intervals. Ligur’s twin sister Hester was a Beta who was prone to tantrums but at least didn’t go out over her way to antagonize Crowley, mostly confining herself to boss him around when she noticed him at all.

Still, it was bearable for a little while after his Papa’s death because he had his nanny Tracy, who had been a constant fixture in his life ever since his mother died from a fever when he was a baby. She was full of hugs, kind words and smiles for him, quick with a bandage for all hurts real or imagined, and games of all sorts. His favorite memories were of the many walks they took in the woods and meadows, where she pointed out all manner of plants and creatures in answer to his endless stream of questions about what was in the world all around them.

But all too soon, even that was taken from him. One afternoon as he was being comforted by Tracy for crying about Ligur hitting him over touching one of his toys his stepmother swept abruptly into the nursery. Perhaps because he was an Omega he cried too easily in those days, but he had still missed his papa desperately. His papa had been a little distant, but kind, and with his death Crowley’s world as he knew it was turned upside down to something bewilderingly darker, as if the bright colors denied in his clothing were somehow also banished from the world.

As his stepmother swept into the room he tried his best to become invisible by hiding his tear streaked face into Tracy’s side and shrinking as far into the side of the couch as he could manage as his stepmother snapped at them furiously.

“ _Really_ , cease your sniveling at once! You are far too old to be coddled like an infant, it’s past time you start acting like a proper young man. Miss Tracy, I have decided we will no longer have need for your services. I have arranged for a tutor to start his schooling as is proper.”

He felt Tracy stiffen beside him as she squeezed his arm reassuringly and slowly stood to face his stepmother. “He’s only six years old, milady, and lost his father not long ago. Surely there’s no harm in letting him have a nanny for a little longer to help him adjust?”

Duchess Lucia swept her with a disdainful glare, her Alpha scent suddenly spiking which made Crowley cower further into the couch. “I am now the head of this house Miss Tracy,” she said coldly. “If you wish to be provided with a good reference upon your departure you would do well to remember that.”

Amazed that Tracy could manage to be able to stand uncowed before his stepmother’s cold authoritative anger when all he wanted to do was curl into a ball of submission, Crowley peeked out from under his arm. He could see Tracy’s fingers clench against her sides but her voice remained steady as she said, “Yes, milady, I do see what the current state of things are.”

His stepmother’s eyes narrowed, but as she couldn’t find fault in Tracy’s words, surveyed the nursery. “Your last duties as a nanny will be to throw away all of these toys. This room is quite large and far better suited for Ligur as the heir. Anthony will be moved to a more suitable room.”

This caught Tracy off guard as she said in surprise, “Throw them away? Surely you don’t mean all of them—”

His stepmother's glare silenced her. “I do not intend to repeat myself Miss Tracy.”

“I— yes, of course milady.”

His stepmother looked at her haughtily for a moment longer as if waiting to see if her authority would be challenged again, then without a glance at Crowley swept from the room. Tracy looked after her, her hand to her mouth as if physically keeping words from coming out. Then she looked at Crowley and flew to his side, gathering him tenderly in her arms as he started to cry again in earnest.

“There, there my love, I’m here for you. Oh, my sweet boy. I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” She rocked him a while longer until his sobs subsided and then pulled his head up to look at him, wiping the tears away from his cheeks.

The tenderness on her face was tinged with a resolute fierceness. “My lamb, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to grow up a lot faster than you should have to. Things are going to be very different for you from now on and it will be so very, very hard for you but you will need to do your best and know that I will always love you with all of my heart.”

Crowley looked up at her, his heart breaking. “But why? Why does she hate me?”

Tracy closed her eyes against the pain in his voice. “Some people have hate in their hearts all of the time that spills out and makes them mean and hurtful. When those people are in a position of power there’s only so much people like us can do about it.” She opened her eyes again to look into Crowley’s golden ones. “But listen to me very carefully. It’s very important to not take that hate into ourselves, to not become the very thing that hurts us.”

Crowley didn’t really understand what she was saying, but he nodded anyway.

Tracy sighed. “Help me pick out a few favorite things, I’ll see if I can come up with a place to hide them for you.”

Crowley nodded sadly and they started going through his things.

  
~*~O~*~

He wondered for years why his stepmother detested him. He remembered what Tracy had told him, that she just had hate in her heart, but when he was twelve he got some insight into her motivations. He had been assigned the yearly task of cleaning out the chimneys, and for the large one in the living room room that meant he had to wedge himself up in it as far as he could to push the cleaning brush up to clear it of the build up of soot. It was an absolutely filthy job, one that had him covered in black dust when he emerged, coughing. He grabbed one of the many rags he had brought with him and wiped his face and hands, which didn’t do much more than smear it around, and started to gather up the cleaning supplies when his stepmother walked into the room. He worked more quickly, trying to leave her presence as soon as possible but as he stood up with the bundle of rags in his arms he saw to his unease that she had stepped close to him.

He looked anywhere but her nervously. It was never good when she actually paid attention to him and he tensed to brace himself for what was to come next. Surprisingly, her hand shot out and she grasped his chin in a bruising grip, turning his head from side to side as she stared at him. He flicked his eyes up briefly into her green ones, trying to interpret the look there before hastily looking back down to the floor in submission.

“You look a great deal like your mother.”

Crowley blinked in astonishment. Of anything he could have imagined his stepmother saying that was certainly not it. She had never once mentioned his mother, and any paintings of his mother had been so long removed from the halls so he could barely remember what she looked like. She had died from a fever when he was just a baby, and all he remembered from the paintings was the rich strokes of dark scarlet paint that portrayed the likeness of her hair, the same color that greeted him whenever he caught his reflection.

“She stole your father from me, did you know that? He was courting me, he was about to propose to me, when she came out of nowhere, a harlot little nobody that bewitched him from me. And then my parents forced me to marry a man thirty years my senior who pawed at me like a drooling rabid dog. The day that man died while rutting on my body was the day I went straight to the cathedral to thank our Lord Savior for finally freeing me.”

She was looking through him now, her green eyes unfocused as she spoke of the past. “And then when she died I finally had my chance to take back what she stole from me.”

Crowley’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, still carefully fixed firmly to the floor. This was certainly new information. His father had never said anything about courting his stepmother before he married his mother.

“And now in a cruel twist of fate, I’m stuck with you, the little brat that reminds me of her every single day.”

Crowley had no idea if a response was expected of him so he remained silent. It certainly explained a few things but he was at a loss as to why she was so bitter about it. He knew his father had loved his mother; he had spoken to Crowley often of her and talked about the importance of keeping her memory alive.

Her eyes suddenly narrowed and focused on him again, her fingers tightening painfully around his jaw. She snapped out, “This is a better look for you, hides that repugnant color. I’d have you shave it every day if not for the fact that you would be more of an embarrassment than you already are. Get out of here and finish the laundry. I’ll not have you lazing about when there’s work to be done.”

The force of the disapproving command from the Alpha pushed at Crowley, making his inner Omega want to duck his head in shame despite the very small voice at the back of his head insisting that he’d done nothing wrong.

After that, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that his stepmother would assign him twice as many chores whenever he washed the soot from his hair, He took to keeping a stash of coals in his room that he would mix with water and comb through his hair so that it looked nearly black instead of red. He had learned not to care what he looked like anyway so it was a small concession to be given the gift of being left alone.

~*~O~*~

He wandered through the thicket, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. His stepmother and the twins were out in the city, which gave him the opportunity to leave the house for most of the day without getting into trouble for it. He hadn’t been to the city since he was a child and wondered what kind of life people had there, full of the glittering soirees of the highborn he overheard his step family talk about. It seemed so much more exciting than his small world that was restricted to within walking distance of the manor, and the occasional trips into the small town nearby to buy supplies. But for a cruel twist of fate resulting in his father’s fatal fall from a horse, he would likely be at those parties, out in Society in fine clothes and scintillating conversation… but no, a very different path lay stretched before him, one of endless drudgery and servitude.

His feet took him down the familiar path to the closest manor from his home, and as he turned around the curve of the long driveway he caught the welcome sight of the stable hand James, just shutting the gate to the paddock, who waved him over enthusiastically.

As Crowley came closer James greeted him with a grin. “Milady’s had the baby!”

“Oh!” Crowley exclaimed, elated. He spun around and sprinted over to the manor.

It was a turning point in his young life when he met Lord and Lady Pulcifier when he was ten. He came across them on one of his walks, and wary at first, was instantly drawn to them when they responded to him with simple open friendliness. They were newlyweds who had recently moved into the manor a thirty minute walk from his house. Well, nowadays it was a twenty minute walk now that he was an adult and his long legs more easily ate up the distance. Upon meeting him, to his surprise and delight the Pulcifier’s readily invited him over to their house any time he wished. He went over there every chance he could, which wasn’t nearly as often as he would have liked, but enough to give him something to look forward to when he was at home.

He grew to adore Anathema fiercely and she treated him like a little brother, alternately fussing over and scolding him as she felt the need. Her husband Newton was a tall Beta that seemed to be all elbows and knees that was one step away from knocking something off of a surface but he had a calm personality that was soothing to be near at times when Crowley’s instincts to follow his Alpha wife around like a puppy and try to please her became a little too hard to bear. Newton seemed to understand this and would invite Crowley into his study to show him the ledgers and accounting he worked on to keep their manor running. Once he discovered that Crowley no longer had a tutor he took it upon himself to give small lessons during his visits and quizzed him on what he remembered on future visits. Crowley tended to be a quick study and did everything within his means to keep the Pulcifer’s approval, the nagging worry that he could lose this small slice of happiness at any moment never far from his mind.

When a maid brought him to the couple sitting in the family room Crowley eagerly peppered them with questions. “When did you have the baby? What is it? How are you? Can I see?” he asked excitedly, trying to peer at the bundle in Anathema’s arms.

Anathema laughed. “He was born four days ago, he’s a boy, his name is Owen, I’m fine, and yes. Come, sit next to me.”

Crowley eagerly sat down next to Anathema on the couch and briefly glanced at Newton, unable to tear his eyes away from the tiny sleeping face wrapped in soft cloth. “So Newton, was the birth horrifying as you thought it would be?”

“Absolutely.” Newton said firmly. “Anathema is much better cut out to be able to handle this sort of thing than I am.”

Anathema leaned towards Crowley and said conspiratorially, “He fainted and I had to banish him to outside of the birthing room.”

“ _Anathema!_ ” Newton said, a pained expression appearing on his face.

Crowley suppressed a laugh. For all of their teasing it was clear how much they loved each other and every time he saw the obvious signs of their happy marriage it warmed his heart.

Anathema lifted the bundle towards him. “Do you want to hold him?”

“Really? I’d love to.” Crowley carefully took little Owen, nestling him into the crook of his arm like he’d watched mothers do. He looked down in awe at the perfect little face topped by a thick head of dark hair. He bent down to inhale the sweet baby scent but then caught the unmistakable scent of— he looked back up at Anathema in alarm.

“ _Oh_. I’m so sorry.” he said with regret.

Anathema looked startled. “Whatever for?”

“He’s an Omega.” Crowley said in sorrow.

A brief look of anger passed across Anathema’s face before she took a breath to steady herself. “Crowley, that’s nothing for him, or you, be ashamed of. We will love him no matter what his secondary gender is.” She paused, then said deliberately, “Just as we love you.”

“I—“ Crowley was stunned, at a loss of what to say. He ducked his head to hide the sting of tears that appeared in his eyes. He was acutely aware that in a world where Alphas males were considered the strongest and most desirable, the less populous Omegas were considered to be on the lowest of the social chain. And male Omegas even more so; as if it was somehow offensive that a feminine secondary gender was combined with a masculine body. Certainly his step family made it clear that he was a lesser person at least in part due to his Omega status.

When the Pulcifiers asked him years ago about where his parents were he could only manage to tell them about his life in bits and pieces, as it was difficult to shake the feeling that his situation in life was somehow his fault because he was an Omega and that he should feel ashamed of it.

But Anathema’s fierce declaration in combination with the way they’d always treated him, with kindness and respect, continued to uproot just a little bit his own wavering conviction that his step family was right, that maybe not everyone believed that being an Omega was something to be ashamed of.

He still felt sorry for them; how could they possibly be as happy about their son being an Omega as they would have been if he was an Alpha or Beta? And there was the fact that as an Omega he couldn’t inherit their estate, and they had tried for so many years to have a baby… But as he looked down at the sleeping infant in his arms, unknowing of his fate in the world, he felt a surge of protectiveness fill him and he promised the baby silently that he would be there for him to the best of his ability to let him know that he wouldn’t be alone like he had been.

Enchanted by the baby, he left to walk back home later than he had intended, and saw to his chagrin that the carriage was in the driveway, which meant that his stepfamily was back early from whatever social event they had gone off to. He quickened his step, hoping to slip in from the back before his absence was noticed, but as he trotted from the kitchen into the hallway towards the stairs that led to his bedroom, Ligur suddenly appeared. Crowley cursed silently to himself. It never bode well when there were no witnesses around. For all that Crowley was no longer a boy his attainment of adulthood had made no difference to how his step family treated him, and Ligur’s already nasty personality had gotten worse after he had been formally introduced into Society and cemented his already over inflated sense of superiority and entitlement.

“Look who’s skulking in? Why, it’s _Crawley_ of course. Where have you been, Crawley?” he asked, his dark eyes boring into him. He had black hair and tanned complexion with a face that could have been handsome if it wasn’t often twisted with the sneer of disdain marring it like it was now.

Crowley sighed inwardly. Calling him a bastardization of his name was something that hadn't changed from when they were children. If that was the worst Ligur could come up with his limited imagination Crowley wouldn’t really care, but what his imagination lacked he made up for with his fists.

“Just out for a walk,” he said as neutrally as he could manage. If Ligur had a good day he might just leave him be with a bit of name calling, but if something had frustrated him— a girl saying no to him perhaps; or a fancied slight— then he could be in some real trouble.

Gritting his teeth, Crowley kept his eyes glued to the respectfully down to the floor, hoping that a submissive posture would get Ligur to leave him alone. It seemed to work, as Ligur stepped to the side to let him pass and Crowley breathed a sigh of relief, moving to walk past him, but then he saw out of the corner of his eye Ligur’s hand reach out towards an expensive decorative vase set into an alcove of the hallway and with a flick of his wrist, the vase tipped over. Crowley lunged to try to catch it but he was too late. White and blue porcelain shattered with a loud crash, shards skittering on the marble floor.

Crowley fell to his knees in a panic, trying to gather their larger pieces, frantically trying to convince himself that maybe he could glue it back together, that maybe—

“What’s going on here?” An imperious voice cut through his whirling thoughts, stopping them cold.

“Oh, Crawley was throwing a tantrum, decided to throw the vase down because he didn’t like me questioning him about where he was off to,” Ligur said casually.

Crowley lifted his gaze to his stepmother’s cold green eyes in astonishment, “No, he’s lying, he knocked the vase over, I would never—”

“ _Silence!_ ” her voice cracked across the air.

Crowley immediately cowered under the force of the Alpha’s command, lowering his gaze and hunching his shoulders. From experience he knew that further protests would be futile; and it was likely he had just made it worse for himself by not claiming responsibility and begging for forgiveness right from the start.

“ _This_ is how you repay my generosity when you live like a beggar on my charity, you worthless miscreant? Obviously it’s been far too long since you were reminded of your place. Outside— you are to stand until I give you leave to move.”

Crowley nodded in resignation, standing to walk outside and catching a glimpse of Ligur’s gloating face as he left. He walked to the middle of the courtyard to endure a favorite punishment of his stepmother’s since he was a boy; standing still underneath the heat of the sun without moving a muscle for an unspecified amount of time. At least he consoled himself that although she did nothing to stop Ligur from hitting him, she herself hadn’t laid an actual hand on him since he broke a teacup by accident in front of company while cleaning up after tea time when he was a boy. The guests took it with good humor and even congratulated him on doing so well in service so young, but his stepmother had been livid. As soon as the guests left she used a switch on him in a fury and then afterwards blamed him for making her sully herself by dispensing a punishment so beneath her station. The one good thing that came out of that was he was demoted to cleaning tasks rather than serving, which he actually preferred as it kept him more out of sight of his step family.

It was impossible to tell how much time was passing as he stood outside. He would see the occasional sympathetic look from a servant although of course none dared to interfere. He knew though from past experience there would be a tall cup of water and cool fruit waiting for him in the kitchen, just set to the side as if someone had forgotten it. None of the staff ever spoke to him about it, but he felt comforted that they tried to help in what limited way they could. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, trailed down to his jaw, then slid down to his neck. It itched maddeningly and his arms held straight by his lean frame trembled with the effort it took not to scratch at his neck. His entire world had narrowed down to the bright glare of the unrelenting sun above his head, the waves of heat pressing against from all directions, the increasing dampness of his clothing under his arms and chest as he sweated, and the drips of sweat gliding tortuously slowly down his sensitive skin.

Then a new itch came in the form of the sensation of a fly landing on his hand, a different kind of tickling itch arriving in the body of a tiny insect to torture him. But at least the fly was on the hand that was farthest from the house, so he surreptitiously moved his fingers a tiny amount, just enough to dislodge the fly, then held his breath, perfectly still, waiting to see if his transgression was seen.

When nothing happened a flood of relief hit him, the slight increase in adrenaline causing the itch on his neck to recede that had consumed his entire awareness for an unknown amount of time— minutes? hours? It was impossible to determine the passage of time, it was as if the world had ceased to move forward and he was frozen in a never ending bubble, a ceaseless punishment of not being allowed to move under the relentless heat of the summer sun until such time as his stepmother deemed he had been punished enough. Which felt as if it was just as likely to be never as it was any moment.

He surreptitiously shifted his weight from side to side as his legs trembled from holding him upright for so long without moving. _Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall_ … he repeated the mantra to himself. He didn’t know what would happen if his legs collapsed out from under him, but he could only imagine it would be something dire so he concentrated on staying upright, his eyes fixed to the ground.

Unexpectedly, Hester’s voice cut into his misery. “Mother says you’re to come in this instant and clean up the mess you made.”

He raised his eyes to Hester who stood before him with a studied expression of bored aloofness. This was new; it was always a servant who was given permission to let him come inside. Her dark eyes looked past him as she said, “The mess in the hallway is appalling, I nearly slipped on a shard of porcelain. I told mother that it really must be cleaned straight away before I hurt myself.” Her eyes flicked up to Crowley’s briefly, then away again.

His brow furrowed, confused. Hester rarely spoke to him except for the occasional imperious order. Had she actually intervened to get him released from his punishment?

She lifted her chin, flicking a trailing curl of her blonde hair over her shoulder, her purple taffeta dress rustling as she turned and walked away. “Best get to it, before Mother changes her mind.”

Crowley unlocked his legs and took a shaking step forward, nearly crumbling to the ground but managing to keep himself upright through sheer force of will. He reached down to squeeze some quick massages into his thighs and calves and then continued on with stiff steps into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This this initial chapter is a bit heavy but I had to set up the background and I couldn’t figure out a good way to lighten it up quite yet. But things start moving forward in the next chapter._
> 
> _The last scene was an interesting writing experience for me. A rare confession; I actually had an awful stepmother when I was a child who dispensed the punishments described in this chapter. I initially wrote a scene based on that abuse from a Crowley child point of view, but after much thought realized that I didn’t want to be the kind of writer that published explicit child abuse, so re-wrote it. I think the point I wanted to make here was that these things do happen, but good people in the world can help counterbalance the bad, and every bit of good helps._


	2. Beginning of Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Aziraphale enters the story._

Grateful for a break in the early spring drizzle that had been a constant over the last couple of weeks, Crowley slipped away, taking advantage of his stepfamily going off to the city to do some shopping after being cooped up in the house for so long. The prolonged rains were making them more irritable than usual and he had crept like a ghost from room to room trying to make himself as invisible as possible as he did his chores. The heavy weight of trying to anticipate the next outburst from Hester or shove from Ligur had been pressing down on him like watching the minute teetering of a boulder right above where your foot is caught in a trap. But finally as he watched the family carriage disappear from the driveway he gave fervent thanks to whatever god might be listening and swiftly left the house.

The damp grass had soaked his feet and lower legs by the time he got to the Pulcifier’s, but he ignored the uncomfortable sensations in anticipation of seeing his friends after far too long of time apart. As he approached the manor he saw Anathema on the other side of the horse corral. She waved him over, and as he rounded the corral a small form suddenly barreled into him, nearly knocking him over.

“Crowee!” a little voice yelled in delight.

Crowley grinned down at the mop of unruly dark hair of the three year old whose arms were wrapped tightly around his legs. “Hey Owen. How’s my favorite little trouble maker?”

“See new horsie!” Owen exclaimed, pointing a little hand towards the corral.

“Really?” Crowley reached down and picked him up, slinging him over his shoulder so that Owen’s head hung down over his back. “I don’t see a horse. Where is it?” He purposefully faced the wrong direction, then when Owen said “Over there!” ,he quickly turned on his heel to face a different direction from the horse in question, making Owen giggle madly as he spun him around continuing to profess he had absolutely no idea what the boy was talking about. Eventually he pulled him down and settled him on his hip, finally looking at the horse.

“Oh, there he is! Why didn’t you tell me, silly?” he said with a grin and a tickle to a little stomach as he leaned into Anathema who was watching them with fondness. She slung her arm around his shoulders in a quick hug as he leaned over to breathe in her comfortably familiar Alpha scent of blackberries and juniper.

“Good afternoon Crowley. Come to admire my newest acquisition?” she said, proudly waving her hand at the horse before them.

“He’s beautiful, Anathema,” Crowley said admiringly, automatically stepping back from the fence as Owen leaned forward in his arms to try climb onto it. It was true, the horse had a stunning pure black glossy coat that gleamed in the sun as he shifted in place. His lean muscles flexed in his long legs as he shifted, hinting that he was born to run great leaping strides over the earth.

“He’s had some training, but he’ll need a little more breaking in this summer. Being a stallion I’m sure he’ll give me a bit of trouble, but it will be worth it for the breeding stock he’ll give me. Well, go on in, give him a pet if you’d like.” She added the last with a knowing look, seeing the yearning on Crowley’s face.

He grinned, not needing to be asked twice as he started to hand Owen to her. Owen fussed, his face screwed up in displeasure and clinging to Crowley, clearly not pleased at being parted from his idol. Crowley bounced him on his hip to get his attention and said, “Hey now, none of that. Tell you what, I bet that there are some pirates that are in dire need of being fought. Who’s my fierce pirate fighter?’

“Me! Me!” Owen crowed.

“That’s right. How about you find a sword and practice and I’ll help you fight them when I’m done with the horse?”

Owen nodded enthusiastically and let himself be put down while he walked around the ground looking intently for the right stick to be a sword.

“You’re so good with him. You’d be a wonderful father,” Anathema said warmly, her dark eyes on him.

Crowley ducked his head, feeling an uncomfortable prickly mix of pleasure and discomfort at the praise. He loved Owen and enjoyed children, but he knew that it was more likely ducks would establish dominion over the earth than he would be allowed to marry and have children of his own. Even if his stepmother would allow it, who would have him? A penniless servant whose primary skills included scrubbing floors and weeding gardens?

He said nothing though, and stepped into the corral. He approached the horse slowly so as not to spook him and gave a friendly nod to the stable hand James holding the reins who nodded back. James dug through the cloth sack he was holding and held out apple slices to Crowley, who took them with a thanks.

The horse eyed him a little suspiciously but once Crowley held out an apple slice flat in the palm of his hand his nostrils flared and he leaned forward to take it readily, the apple disappearing quickly and his dark lips mouthing at him for more, making Crowley chuckle softly. When another apple slice wasn’t immediately forthcoming the horse made a whuffing noise and extended his nose to him pointedly.

“All right, all right, you greedy thing,” Crowley said good naturedly as he fed him the remaining slices one by one, petting his glossy black neck.

“He likes you.”

Crowley turned to look at Anathema. “Shows he has good taste,” he said with a cheeky grin.

Anathema laughed, her bright and easy laughter always finding its way to the warm place in Crowley’s heart. “That he does,” she agreed easily.

Crowley looked back at the horse, running his hand along his back. “What’s his name?”

Anathema shrugged. “Oh, it’s something very long with lots of references to his impeccable lineage. But I was thinking that since he has a new start in life he needs a new name.” She paused. “Would you like to suggest one?”

Crowley looked at her, surprised. “Me?”

She snorted. “No, the horse, who do you think?”

She had that small smile again, the one that she tended to have when she insisted on doing things that made no sense to him. The last time she had that smile was when she announced she was going to give him lessons in how to eat in a formal dining situation, drilling him into knowing which fork went with which course of the meal, how to eat soup without slurping, and endless other etiquette lessons. While she readily acknowledged Crowley’s annoyance that it shouldn’t matter if he used the small spoon to eat soup with she would still rap his fingers sharply with a ruler if he got it wrong and insist on him repeating the lesson until he got it right. He retaliated by sticking his tongue out and blowing raspberries at her in a decidedly unrefined manner, but she remained annoyingly uncowed by his antics.

He still never understood that; the chances of him ever sitting down at a formal dining experience was about as likely as sprouting wings from his back and being able to fly. But she insisted, and he would give the moon to her on a platter if he could as she was a treasured spot of kindness in his life.

She also had that smile when she started giving him ballroom dance lessons when he was twelve, although those lessons he never minded. She would rope her husband Newton into demonstrating the dance steps, who joined them good naturedly but without much grace. After stepping on unwary toes enough times he would call it off with a laugh, bringing out his violin to play the music to the steps while Crowley and Anathema practiced. Crowley enjoyed the preciseness of learning exactly what step to take next in the sequenced dances; it gave him a certain amount of comfort feeling the control of knowing what to do next.

But that paled in comparison to how he felt when he learned how to waltz. Even though that was a far less controlled dance, the swaying steps to the waltz was magical once he got the hang of it, the rhythmic circular turning to the music almost hypnotically elegant, resonating in his body long after the lesson was over. He made the mistake once of practicing the steps at home when Ligur found him, and he limped for a week afterwards at the beating he got for apparently trying to imitate his betters.

Crowley looked at the stallion, who nosed him hopefully for more apples. The thick coarse coal black mane reminded him of a shaggy black dog of his father’s that died of old age a year after his accident. Another loss he had to hide his mourning for, but absently petting the mane before him he realized that thinking of the dog didn’t bring him as much grief as it used to, rather it reminded him of happier times in his life. The small annoying tendril of optimism that kept making an appearance coiled upwards, bringing with it the hope that just maybe despite the odds he could have a life like that again someday. Suddenly he wanted to hold onto that tendril, to be able to say the dog’s name again in joy.

He cleared his throat and glanced at Anathema. “What about… Bentley?”

She nodded gravely. “Bentley it is.”

He ducked his head, pleased. Naming was a powerful thing, something he’d never gotten to do before. He wasn’t even allowed to go by his first name, Anthony. He realized after that conversation with his stepmother that revealed her obsessive hatred of his mother Antonia, it was likely because he was named after her. But he had gone by Crowley for so long now it would feel odd to go by anything else and didn’t mind it, even if Ligur usually called him Crawley to be petty and annoying.

“As I said, Bentley is barely broken in and he’ll need more handling to get him used to riders. I could use your help, if you’d like,” Anathema said casually.

“Me?” he squeaked in surprise yet again.

Anathema raised her eyebrow at him. “Well, there’s certainly a little somebody who keeps me quite busy, doesn’t he?” she said, ruffling Owen’s hair who was earnestly wacking on the corral fence with a stick. “I don’t have nearly as much time to ride as I used to.”

“I uh, have only ridden a little.” Oh, but the very idea of riding this magnificent beast before him filled his very veins with a sizzling yearning. He could tell this horse was bred to run, and run fast, he could fly, he could pretend to be free…

Anathema’s voice cut into his reverie. “James can teach you. Would that be all right with you, James?”

That was another thing he loved about her. His stepmother would never dream of asking a servant to do something, in her mind they were to be commanded and her will to be instantly obeyed.

“Of course milady. The lad and I will do just fine together.”

“Excellent. That’s settled then. How about you get on with a lesson while I get our pirate fighter some lunch?”

After an earnest negotiation with Owen and Crowley pinky swearing that he would play pirates with him after lunch, Anathema picked Owen up and smiled at Crowley’s stammering attempts at thanking her, waving at him before heading back to the house in her customary long strides.

He turned back to James expectantly, his eyes shining.

“All right lad. Let’s start with having you just lead him around for a while so you can get used to each other.”

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Must we, again?” 

Gabriel frowned at him. “Yes, your Highness. Your mother is insisting. It’s past time you fulfill your most important royal duty.”

Aziraphale glared up from where he was sitting at the Alpha who was the chief royal advisor. “Really?” he drawled in exasperation. “The most important thing I can do to contribute to the kingdom is to saddle myself with a spouse to impregnate?”

Gabriel drew himself up stiffly to his not inconsiderable height and looked down his nose, somehow managing to give an impression of superiority even when speaking to a prince.

“It is your sacred duty to continue the royal bloodline to ensure your family’s claim to the throne. The last time the heir to the throne was disputed it led to the bloodiest civil war this country has ever seen and—”

“I am _quite_ well acquainted with history,” Aziraphale snapped.

He set his book down, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He had known this was coming, the pressure had been steadily increasing ever since he came of age. Not for the first time, he wished he had siblings to share the burden of ensuring the royal lineage. He became aware at a young age that being the only heir to the throne meant that his life didn’t belong to him so much as it belonged to the needs of the kingdom. Although it was a burden he mostly willingly bore, he had come to treasure his personal time when his duties were met. Now it seemed that even that small slice of freedom was about to be taken from him. When he was able to take time for himself he enjoyed his solitude and being able to pursue his own interests. The idea of disrupting his comfortable routines with a spouse who would have demands for his attention was about as appealing to him as eating oysters dipped in chocolate ganache.

But he knew his duty and with resignation, he supposed he had best face the fact that he had put it off for as long as he could. “Fine. But I refuse to marry someone my mother has arranged for me that I’ve never even met. I saw how well that worked out for her and I will have a choice in the choosing of my mate.”

Gabriel nodded stiffly. “I will convey your request to her Majesty. She may be persuaded but you need to start meeting with potential mates. You won’t be able to do that if you continue to shut yourself up in here.” He gestured with a disdainful flick of his wrist to the library around them.

Increasingly annoyed with this conversation, Aziraphale stood, tugging down his cream colored waistcoat and walking over to the window to look out into the gardens below. He idly noticed the ivy covered trellis underneath the window looked remarkably sturdy. Maybe he could throw a book at Gabriel to district him and vault over the windowsill, shimmy down the trellis and disappear into the gardens, escaping his fate for just a little while longer. He allowed himself the brief luxury of the fantasy before banishing it with a sigh. It’s not like he was even remotely athletic. It was just as likely he would tumble to the ground with his arse in the air and wouldn’t _that_ give the palace staff something to gossip about.

Although as a matter of principle he hated to let Gabriel feel like he had the upper hand the supercilious advisor did have a point. It’s not like eligible young nobles were hiding around the rows of bookshelves where he tended to spend much of his spare time. Although the way some of the titled mothers tended to try to shove their offspring on him he wouldn’t put it past them to try to stuff their sons and daughters in between the shelves to spring out at him unawares, he thought wryly.

“We could host a series of balls,” Gabriel suggested. “Houses from miles around would attend, which would give you the ample opportunity to make a selection.” He made it sound as simple as sauntering into the cobbler’s shop to select a pair of shoes.

Aziraphale grimaced. He had rarely been at a ball he had enjoyed since he became of marriageable age. The sycophants trying to surround him laughing a little too loudly at whatever remark he made that was supposedly witty, the calculating look of the families that all conspired to shove their empty heading offspring into his field of vision… it was tiresome at best, and he never felt as lonely as he did at these balls surrounded by people.

No, not lonely, he told himself firmly. Such an emotion was unbecoming for an Alpha, let alone a prince. It was merely that he tended to prefer the company of books rather than people. Books didn’t demand his attention or try to engage him on utterly dull topics such as the latest fashion in lace or the depth of interest a suitor is indicating when strolling around the drawing room with their paramour three times verses five.

He sighed, running his hand through his pale short curls and making them even more unruly than usual. If only he could go to a ball anonymously, have the opportunity to get to know someone without them being dazzled by his title… a thought occurred to him and he turned to Gabriel.

“Yes, let’s have a ball.” Gabriel raised his dark eyebrows in surprise at Aziraphale actually agreeing with him for once. “But they will be masquerade balls, with no entry announcements of the arriving families.”

Gabriel regarded him, looking on the verge to argue further, then apparently deciding this particular odd whim of royalty was a small concession to getting what he wanted, settled for nodding his head.

“I’ll begin making the arrangements at once, your Highness.” He bowed as he started to leave the room.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes in an undignified manner. “Good Lord, not immediately. I’m right in the middle of negotiating that naval trade agreement which is taking up a great deal of my time. Towards the end of the summer will be soon enough to have the balls, I should have everything wrapped up by then.”

Gabriel’s face had that pinched expression he got when things weren’t going precisely as he wished; as if something particularly unpleasant just trickled down his ramrod straight back, but he nodded again, bowing stiffly and leaving the library.

Aziraphale felt like he had achieved at least a small victory. He wasn’t so naive to think that he’ll manage to find the love of his life, but at at least if he could find someone compatible, maybe someone who also enjoyed the quiet joy of reading a good book, of taking long afternoon walks through the extensive palace gardens, a companion he could talk to easily…

He shook his head. A foolish fantasy. It was best to not get his hopes up too high and be happy if he found someone that didn’t look at him with the cool disregard his parents had had for each other before his father had died.

~*~O~*~

Crowley crept closer to the sitting room to eavesdrop on the excited voices coming from within.

“Give it here!” Hester’s shrill voice exclaimed. Then Ligur yelled “Let me have it!” There was the sound of scuffling and a wail of indignant outrage before his stepmother’s voice cut in.

“Children, children, stop squabbling. Give it to me.”

He smirked to imagine the equally petulant looks on the twin’s faces as whatever they were fighting over was taken away from them. There was a rustling of paper, then a brief silence.

“Well. I had heard a rumor about this. It seems that the prince is hosting a series of three balls at the palace.”

 _“The prince?!”_ Hester shrieked. “And he’s inviting _me?!”_

“Don’t be a fool,” his stepmother said coldly. “Not specifically you. It says here ‘By royal command, every unmarried noble is invited’. This means that the prince is finally looking for a mate. But,” she continued thoughtfully, “I see no reason why he shouldn’t choose you, if we play our cards right.”

There was a pause, then she said, “Interesting. They will be masquerade balls. Come children, there is much work to be done. A few well placed bribes should give us information as to what costume the prince will be wearing, and then of course we must go to the tailor’s at once, it is absolutely vital we make a good impression. ”

Crowley barely darted out of the hallway in time to avoid being spotted by his stepfamily. He swiftly climbed up the stairs to his small bedroom, his head whirling. A royal ball! And by royal command all unmarried nobles were invited! He knew his father had been some kind of minor noble, didn’t that mean he technically was one as well? If he was, then, oh, maybe that meant he could go! Wondrous visions of seeing the palace in person danced in his head. He could only imagine what it would be like; would they have entertainment like tumbling jesters, melodious singers? Fancy food on solid gold plates to eat off of? Naw, Newton had taught him that large objects of gold would be too heavy to be practical although he would have loved to see it. He was sure there would be gold leaf everywhere though and he could imagine the chandeliers casting their glittering glow over it so that it shone with opulent splendor.

He could pretend for one night that he belonged at a place that had fine food, orchestra music filling the air, dancing… he lifted his arms into a dance position, taking a couple of giddy twirling steps. He could dance with people other than Anathema and Newton! He could….

Royal command or not, the realization that his stepmother would likely never let him go crashed down on his fantasy as his feet came to a stumbling halt, his arms falling to his side. Although she had barely paid any attention to him recently, too distracted with trying to find what she felt were suitable matches for her children it didn’t mean she had warmed up to him at all. But perhaps if he was extra diligent with his chores so she could find no fault in his work, and take advantage of what was sure to be her good mood at plotting to ensnare the prince for her daughter, then maybe...

He knew that he shouldn’t dare to hope for a better life, for nice things to happen to him, he knew that just led to repeated disappointment. But he sometimes couldn’t seem to help himself feel more optimistic than he had any right to be. After he had reached adulthood there were times in the quiet of the night with nothing to distract him that the desperate yearning for something more to come of his life would sometimes rise up so sharply he felt as if he might suffocate with longing.

All he had to do was muster up the courage to ask and maybe, just maybe his stepmother’s cold heart might have thawed just the tiniest bit towards him, enough to let him go to the ball. The worst that could happen is that she would say no, right?


	3. Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo

Driven by his newfound determination to try to make his step family think well of him in preparation for asking the Question, Crowley threw himself into his chores. Over the next few weeks the floors were industriously swept and mopped, every crevice of dirt lodged against the baseboard carefully scrubbed away, the dishes shone, the beds were made perfectly without a hint of wrinkle, the laundry was cleaned, stains scrubbed out and neatly put it away, and every possible surface was wiped down until not a speck of dust could be found. Even the grounds around the manor was carefully manicured; colorful flowers planted around the entrance and gravel pathways raked clear of leaves.

For all that he normally vastly preferred his step family to ignore him, he couldn’t help feel disappointed that his extra efforts seemed to go completely unnoticed as he slipped to and from the rooms of the house. He may as well have been invisible for the amount of attention they paid him as they were largely preoccupied with getting ready for the first ball. Acquaintances stopped by regularly for tea to gossip about the biggest event in the kingdom for years, the tailor arrived for fittings, the cloth merchant to spread out their wares to choose from, and the dance instructors for lessons.

Once as he was clearing the table after lunch he overheard snippets of an earnest conversation between his stepmother and a plain clothed man by the front door that seemed to have something to do with the ball.

“Yeah, he’s mad about that rubbish, will go on for ages about theories and debates…”

More indistinct talking, then, “... bit of wine snob if that matters, and he actually dislikes hunting for sport, so I wouldn’t go bringing that up, but he does fence…”

As he entered the hall with his arms full of dishes watching out of the corner of his eye he saw his stepmother give the man a small cloth bag that clinked as he took it.

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, your Grace,” the man said with a bow as he left.

He puzzled over that interaction a little, and over the next week he saw an increase in the stream of tutors coming to the house to provide lessons. He overheard snippets of various lessons about philosophy of all things and when a fencing instructor came to give lessons on not actually how to fence but the terminology and strategy the puzzle piece clicked into place. It seemed that Hester was being given rigorous lessons and tests specifically tailored to topics the Prince was interested in so that she could converse intelligently about said interests.

This was much to Hester’s dismay, who had little interest in academics. But despite the volume at which she could screech which she was accustomed to being a precursor to her getting her way, her mother insisted with steel in her voice that unless Hester wished to be subjected to the same punishment she had seen a certain other member of the household undergo then she would fully cooperate.

Even Crowley was shocked by that threat, nearly dropping the cloth he was pretending to dust with as he was eavesdropping. He shook his head, feeling a small amount of sympathy for the prince. The poor bastard probably had no idea the lengths to which someone like his stepmother would go to marry their daughter to him, and all for his title. But, he reflected, he was a prince after all, with servants and his every desire at his beck and call. He probably had a simply splendid life full of fine companionship and the freedom to do whatever he wanted to, so whatever pity Crowley might feel for him was likely wildly unwarranted. The high Houses were supposed to be above base feelings such as love, so perhaps he would be more than happy with Hester’s title.

He was acutely aware of the passing of days, each passing one bringing him uneasily closer and closer to the date of the first ball with the finality of the winding down ticking of a jack in the box. He had always hated those infernal toys. Staring at a brightly colored box, tense anticipation thrumming through his body of hearing that maddening _tick, tick, tick_ while waiting to be unpleasantly jolted by an explosion of a maniacally grinning jester seemed to be the antithesis of fun. He was convinced they had to have been designed by someone who obviously hated children.

He almost asked the Question when his stepmother swept past him in the hallway, when he cleaned up after tea, when he pulled closed the heavy drapes throughout the house in the afternoon against the heat of the day, and half a dozen other times, but the words always got stuck in his head, not even making it as far down as his throat as he struggled with trying to find the right words and overriding the long years of entrenched habits of not initiating an interaction unless he absolutely had to. He berated himself internally. He was being cowardly, he was giving in to his Omega instincts to be passive, to avoid confrontation. The worst case scenario was that she would say no, that he might be punished for his audacity but he could handle that. And there was always the smallest, tiniest, remote chance that she would say yes, and oh, that would be worth every second of scrubbing and pushing himself painfully out of his carefully constructed guard.

One week away from the ball— _tick, tick, tick_ — he picked up the dishes from the dining table after his stepmother and the twins had finished breakfast and hesitated, acutely aware he was running out of time. He took a deep breath to help steady his nerves but that was a mistake as his stepmother’s Alpha scent filled his nostrils, a smell reminiscent of the acid tang of overripe citrus. It made him more on edge as he became aware of her gaze sharpening on him as he stood there without moving, his arms full of dishes. He forced his mouth to open and somehow managed to get out the words he had been practicing in his room.

“I— was hoping— I— I want to go to the ball.” He said it! Some small part of him exulted in victory even as he quaked under his stepmother’s look that made him feel exposed and vulnerable as though he was something particularly distasteful she found growing on her shoe that she was going to scrape off at any moment.

 _“You?”_ she said incredulously, her perfectly plucked eyebrows arching in astonishment and her mouth dropping open in a manner that he would have found comical if he wasn’t consumed by the feeling of being a bird that had left it’s nest too early and was now fluttering helplessly on the ground in an erratic effort to find a place to hide from predators.

But then the utter shock and disdain in her voice trickled down into his flapping mess of emotions and to his astonishment somehow the feeling that rose to the top was defiant resentment. Briefly the trembling of his hands that he hadn’t even realized had started stilled as he tightened them around the tray he was holding and said, “Yes. The invitation said by royal command all unmarried nobles are invited. That means I’m invited too.”

The astounded look on her face was probably mirrored on his own as it sank into him how much he had managed to forget his place. The utter disdain on her face made his newfound courage slide away like hot melted butter as the trembling returned to his hands, sliding down to spread to the rest of his body as he fought the almost overwhelming urge to submit to the disapproving Alpha in the room.

He struggled to force more words out, the edges of his vision blurring with the amount of effort it took. “I— won’t be in your way, I’ll just stay to the side, in a corner, whatever you want, you won’t even have to look at me, I just want to see a ball, for once in my life. _Please_ ,” he pleaded.

He lost the ability to look at her face any longer and his eyes slid to the floor, cursing his Omega instincts making him feel that he was _wrong_ to disagree with an Alpha, that he was _bad_. There was a long silence that filled the room, beating down against his ears until it seemed deafening, pressing against his eardrums to make the beating of his heart thunder that much louder. Crowley was clenching so tightly to the tray of dishes his hands were white knuckled claws as he waited for her response. _The worst that can happen is that she’ll say no_ , he reminded himself to try to still the instinct to flee like a panicked bird.

Ligur and Hester didn’t move from where they were sitting at the table, staring at the drama before them. They would perhaps be no less shocked into silence as if a garden snake had slithered into the room and hissed out quite politely a query as to if it could attend the ball.

Finally his stepmother spoke.

“Yes, so it does.” She paused. He could almost feel her eyes boring into him like twin pools of hard green jade. “Well. I see no reason why you can’t go.”

His eyes shot back up to her hers in shocked surprise and she met his eyes coldly.

“But only _if_ you complete all of your chores. And _if_ you can find something suitable to wear.”

Crowley gasped out, hardly daring to believe his good fortune, “Oh, thank you Stepmother, thank you!” He had been carrying the heavy weight of the Question on his slender shoulders for so long it felt strange to have it gone, as if he could float away like a feather. He unlocked his knees, managing a shaky bow and left the room as quickly as he could without running, his feet hardly touching the floor in giddy happiness.

“Mother!” Hester hissed. “Do you realize what you just said? What are you thinking—”

Ligur chimed in. “If you think for one minute I’m going to put up with _Crawly_ going with us—“

“Oh, hush children. I said _if_ , after all.” she said very deliberately.

Realization dawned on her children’s faces. “Ohhh,” they chorused, with relieved looks.

The rest of the week passed in a blur, with Crowley working harder than he ever had before. His stepmother and the twins kept coming up with more and more chores for him to do, insisting the window drapes were far too dusty and needed to be cleaned right away, that the chicken hutch was suddenly an eyesore and needed to be painted, every window in the house had to be washed inside and out, the formal dining silverware needed to be polished even though there were no social events planned, their bedroom floors were suddenly unbearably filthy and, no the mop wasn’t good enough, they had to be scrubbed by hand… the list was seeming endless but Crowley threw himself into the work without complaint, visions of a magical night at the ball dancing behind his eyes as he scrubbed until his hands were red and raw. He was well aware of what his stepfamily was doing, but had a determined optimism that if he could just work hard enough they would see that he had earned the right to go. He still despaired at the sheer amount of chores that were assigned to him; even if he forwent sleep he would be hard pressed to finish it all in time.

But then something almost magical happened. To Crowley’s astonishment, he discovered that some of the chores were completed before he got to them. He opened the cupboard to the formal dining silverware with a polishing cloth in hand to find every piece already brightly gleaming. When he got out the ladder to clean the outdoor windows he discovered they had been recently cleaned, the glass sparkling and the white window sills shining. He came outside one morning with a paint bucket and stopped short to find the partially painted chicken hutch he had started on the day before was now completely done, the still wet paint glistening in the sun.

None of the staff that worked at the manor said a word to him about it, but he saw more than one person yawning during the week and later that day he ran across Mr. Shadwell as he was leaving the garden. When his eyes caught sight of the spotted flecks of white paint on Mr. Shadwell’s gnarled hands, he stopped short, a lump forming in his throat as he stared at his hands. Mr. Shadwell was an odd gruff sort who worked as a general handyman around the manor and seldom had much to say to him, but he grunted when he saw Crowley staring and clapped him on the shoulder briefly.

“Don’ let them git ye down laddie, ye ken?”

Crowley nodded, not able to trust himself to speak without starting to cry. Mr. Shadwell grunted again and turned away.

The one thing that had been weighing on his mind during all of this was his lack of anything suitable to wear. He had already severely pushed his luck in getting his stepmother to agree to let him go to the ball and knew there was no way she would help get him any finery. He despaired as he realized it was another way of her sabotaging his ability to go without lifting a finger.

But then one night, on the verge of sliding into sleep while his brain worried at the problem, he suddenly remembered the things that Tracy had hid away for him before she was dismissed. His eyes shot open and he leapt from his bed to hurriedly light a lantern and creep into the attic. The flickering light dimly illuminated the small space, forgotten odd pieces of small furniture and boxes crammed haphazardly on top of each other. He pushed aside various objects to create a narrow path down the middle that he made his way down on his knees until he found a large black chest tucked all the way in the back. Struggling to pull the old stiff thick leather strap out of the buckle, he opened it and looked down at an assortment of children’s toys and books. Pulling those out and setting them on the floor, a thrill of excitement suffused him as he found the treasure he was seeking, a half remembered memory of seeing Tracy fold it into the chest.

He pulled out the formal frock coat of his father’s. It was hard to see the color in the dim light, but he remembered admiring the deep red silk dupioni that was so dark that it was almost black in the dim lantern light. Below the coat was a matching waistcoat and breeches. He ran his hands over the luxurious fabric. He couldn’t remember the last time he had worn anything so fine and the very idea made him giddy. As he pulled the clothes out something small fell to the floor. He picked up the object to see a cravat pin with black onyx at the end of it carved into the shape of an intricately coiled serpent. He turned it over in his hands, the serpent shape almost reminding him of something, but he couldn’t quite grasp the edges of the memory fully enough to bring forth meaning to it. Perhaps he just had a dim memory of seeing his father wear it.

Gathering the pin with the clothes, he snuck back to his room and eagerly tried them on. They hung a little loose on him, apparently he was more slender than his father was, and a little taller, but he had learned how to mend his own clothes out of necessity so maybe he could manage to figure out how to take it in a little. Although it was of fine fabric, it was perhaps a little plain for a costume ball but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He flopped onto his narrow bed breathless with anticipation. There was actually a real chance now that he was going to the ball! For one magical night he could pretend that he belonged somewhere else than here, and have that bright memory to sustain him on his darker days.

The tailor came to the house for the final costume fittings. Hester’s costume was that of a dove, her white gown trimmed with a wide gold braid and a feathered headdress and white mask, which made her look soft and innocent. Ligur’s costume was reminiscent of an eagle with a brown frock coat trimmed with darker brown edging, his white satin waistcoat gleaming in contrast and a white feathered eagle mask. The Duchess’s costume was a hawk, her dress in varying shades of brown and gold with a matching feathered mask.

After the flurry of trying things on and imperious orders for alterations, the tailor left and his step family flounced out, leaving the sitting room a mess. Crowley gathered up all of the discarded bits of fabric, feathers, and trim into a bag and took the trash out. As he was emptying the bag he found a long strand of braided gold trim which he pulled out and looked at thoughtfully. It might be just the thing he needed...

At long last he stood in his room dressed in his new finery. He fingered the gold braid he had painstakingly sewn onto the raised collar and wrist of his tailored jacket and adjusted the serpent tipped pin in the cravat that bloomed white against the dark red waistcoat. He wished he had a mirror in his room but liked to think that he cut a dashing figure, wearing fine clothes for the first time in many, many years. He tucked the plain black mask he had made into his pocket, wishing he could have come up with something more fancy but grateful that he had managed to find some spare leather to make it with.

It was almost time to go but he was too nervous to go downstairs. What was it going to be like? What would he say to the nobles he encountered? It's not like he could discourse about the best cleaning tips for working stains out of a rug or how to tame chickens so they would peck grains out of your hand. What could he possibly have to offer in high society conversation?

His courage was failing him and he looked around wildly in his small room for something to anchor him. His few meager possessions seemed to mock him with their shabbiness, mismatched odds and ends collected much like a crow would collect bright shiny things. A vibrant blue ribbon he had found on a walk that he fancied would look striking holding back his shoulder length hair but never had the courage to wear. A large black feather, almost twice as long as the length of his hand, that had puzzled him as he tried to imagine what kind of bird it possibly could have come from. A flyer announcing the wonders of the traveling circus that occasionally passed through. He picked it up to look at it, often liking to look at the colorful animals drawn on the advertisement, imagining what it might be like to see them, but today it just felt like another reminder of something he would likely never be able to see in person, and he set it back down with a frown.

A noise made him look out the window and he blanched. The carriage was already at the front! Cursing himself for his cowardice almost making him late, he rushed down the stairs, his father’s fine shoes that were a little too large clattering oddly on the wooden steps.

“Wait for me!” he called out just as his stepfamily was about to leave the house. They turned as one to look at him with identical looks of astonishment on their faces as he came to a halt in front of them, catching his breath.

Ligur sneered at him, placing his fists on his hips. “Look at you, it’s like a cockroach dressing in silks. Where do you think you’re going?”

Crowley looked at him in bewilderment. “All of my chores are done, I have something to wear— Stepmother said that I can go to the ball.”

“No, Mother, it would be so embarrassing to have him there, you can’t possibly allow—”

“Don’t you dare think for a minute you crawling little maggot—”

His stepmother’s voice cut through the shrill complaints. “Children, please. After all, we did make a bargain. And I never go back on my word.”

Shocked silence from the twins followed her statement.

His stepmother took a step forward, the wide skirt of her golden brown taffeta dress embroidered with white spots sweeping the floor. She dragged her eyes up and down Crowley in a manner that distinctly left him feeling as though he still fell far short in her eyes and he should be groveling in shame.

Her green eyes narrowed at him as she said “Why yes, that coat does seem most suitable for the ball, don’t you agree Hester? The trim really gives it just... the... right... touch.”

Hester turned her nose up. “Well, I really don’t see how—“ then her eyes widened as they landed on the gold braid at Crowley’s collar that matched the trim on the bodice of her white satin dress. “Oh! Why you little thief!” she exclaimed, advancing on him with narrowed eyes.

Crowley stepped back, his heart stuttering in his chest. “I found it in the rubbish bin, no one wanted it—”

“Likely story you rotten liar! Give that back!” Her hands darted out and yanked on his collar, and there was a ripping sound as the delicate fabric gave way.

“No!” Crowley cried out, uselessly trying to put the torn fabric back into place. But Ligur was suddenly there, and he shoved Crowley’s hands away and grabbed fistfuls of his frock coat— his father’s coat— and pulled sharply with his meaty hands, ripping the coat all the way down so that it was hanging off of him in shreds at the elbows.

Then quicker that Crowley could react he grabbed the edges of his waistcoat and yanked it open so that buttons went flying everywhere, the buttonholes ripping out. He shoved his broad face into Crowley’s. “I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget about trying to imitate your betters, you worthless little—” Crowley quivered as waves of the Alpha’s scent crashed over him, a nauseating sour tang that made his stomach roll.

His stepmother’s calm voice interjected. “That’s quite enough, Ligur, you really mustn't get yourself all worked up. Need I remind you how vitally important it is to make a good impression tonight? Hurry along now, both of you, it wouldn't do to be late.”

Ligur snarled at him, “You’ll get what’s coming to you later,” and shoved him, Crowley stumbling backwards in a daze, as he turned to stalk out of the door. His stepmother followed her son, then paused at the door to look back at Crowley as he stood frozen, too shocked and overwhelmed to move. She looked at him with a small smile playing at the edge of her lips.

“Now child, it appears you don’t have something suitable to wear after all. A shame.” And with that she swept out of the door, closing it behind her with the finality of closing a tomb.

That broke the frozen state that he was in and his hand flew to his mouth, a single sob escaping him before he turned and fled out of the back of the house, not really knowing where he was going, and only making it as far as the back garden before he stumbled over to the garden bench and collapsed to his knees before it, burying his face in his arms and sobbing in a way he hadn’t done since the day his father died.

Oh, he had been such a fool, to dare to hope that he would ever be allowed anything lovely in his life. The terrifying thin pale flame of hope that he had tried not to nurture, the hope that there could be the smallest glimpse into another life for himself had expanded, suffused his heart with warmth, made him _happy_ … and that hope had been brutally and savagely crushed. He hadn’t even realized until now that he had somehow thought that maybe this was a turning point in how his step family felt about him, that although he knew he would never be treated as their equal, maybe if he tried hard enough they could feel some measure of affection for him. It was if his heart had been ripped apart along with his clothing and he felt the darkest despair he had ever felt before he had heard of the stupid ball.

He tried to pull back his spiraling thoughts. Despite all that had happened to him in his life, hopelessness was not a feeling he relished and he desperately tried to focus on something else.  
It probably would have been frightfully dull at the ball anyway, full of stiff snobby nobles, and boring, and... and completely… completely _wonderful_ to have a beautiful, magical, glittering memory that was his, and his alone that could give him solace in the only bleak life that he had ever known stretching out ahead of him…

Sobbing and trapped under the crushing weight of his emotions he only gradually became aware of a gentle hand on his shoulder and a soft “There, there, Crowley, it will be all right.”. He slowly lifted his tear streaked face, astonished to see Anathema sitting beside him on the bench. He blinked at her in a daze. She had never been to the house before, and to see her appear here now, as if by magic, seemed impossible. He leapt forward, half expecting her to be an apparition but she was solid as he flung his arms around her. She held him tightly as he breathed in her familiar soothing scent of blackberries and juniper. When he managed to slow his ragged breathing down to something approaching normal she pulled back to look at him earnestly.

“Come now, let’s dry those tears. We have a lot of work to do and only a short time in which to do it.”

“What work?” Crowley asked, confused.

She didn’t respond to his question, instead standing up and pulling Crowley to his feet. She tilted her head to look him up and down, taking in his torn clothes. Her features briefly turned fierce, and a low growl that Crowley had never heard from her emanated from her throat, causing Crowley to shrink back from her. Her expression instantly changed to alarm as she sought to reassure him.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, it’s not you, you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.”

She pulled him into a brief hug and took a deep breath. “I think the first thing we need to do is wash your hair. Show me where the sink is and I’ll help you.”

“My… hair?” Crowley asked, no less confused. He rarely washed his hair, since it just meant he’d have to spend more time working the coal ash into it.

Anathema tapped her foot impatiently. “The sink, Crowley,” she said, letting a tone of Alpha command sink into her voice so that Crowley jumped to obey her without questioning it further. Although he didn’t mind obeying Anathema, he was utterly bewildered as to why she was here and why she felt the urgent need to wash his hair. But he obediently led her to the kitchen sink and bowed over it to let her wet it and work in some kind of shampoo she brought out of a large bag she had brought with her. She washed and rinsed his hair multiple times until the water ran clear of the soot. She toweled him as dry as she could rather vigorously, then yanked a comb through his shoulder length hair while he yelped.

“Sorry,” she sighed. “We just don’t have a lot of time.”

“Time for what?” he asked, not really expecting an answer when Anathema was in this kind of mood. But this time she gave him more of a response, albeit a vague one, than she usually did.

“I’m not actually entirely sure. But I know we need to hurry.” And with that she tied his shoulder length hair back with a black ribbon and then reached into her bag and pulled out some dark fabric. “Change into these.”

Crowley looked down at the clothing in his hands, then back up at Anathema uncertainly. She smiled at him encouragingly and turned her back to him to provide him some privacy. He pulled the ruined clothes off of his back and then slipped on the shirt, which was an unusual black color instead of the traditional white. He then replaced his breeches with the buttery soft black pair Anathema had given him. The old ones he had taken in the waist so they didn’t fall off of him but they had still been quite loose in the hips and thighs. The new ones fit him like a glove, hugging the muscles of his thighs in a manner that felt slightly obscene, even though he knew it was fashionable.

“How— how did you know what size to get me?” he asked in wonderment, smoothing his hands down the front of his thighs. Anathema peeked over her shoulder and then turned around when she saw he was mostly dressed.

“Oh, good, it fits. I have an eye for a man’s shape. Good to know I haven’t lost my touch,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Tuck in your shirt, let’s get the waistcoat on.”

He did as she instructed and picked up the black waistcoat which had a small scalloped design woven into the fabric. Anathema helped him make quick work of the small silver buttons and wound a dark red silk length of fabric around his neck, tying in in a fashion that cascaded down from his neck, tucking it into the high neckline of the waistcoat. She fussed with it, a small furrow appearing on her brow as she tried to get it to lie how she wanted, when Crowley said “Wait, I’ve got something—” He bent over to retrieve the onyx snake tipped cravat pin in the pile of discarded clothes and handed it to her.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she said delightedly. She pushed the pin through the cravat folds as she spoke conversationally. “I sometimes get these feelings that I have to do certain things. I’ve learned that if I just go with it things work out for the best, either for me or someone around me.”

“Like a magic fairy?”

She snorted, handing him a black frock coat. “Hardly. But my family has had certain… abilities for generations.”

She stepped back and surveyed him after he put on the coat. Her eyes fluttered open wide as she took him in and Crowley shifted uneasily under her stare.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, looking amazed. “Goodness, I had suspected, but seeing you like this… you’re stunning.”

Now Crowley stared at her, mouth agape. He tried to look down at himself and saw fine clothes on his everyday lanky frame that didn’t look any different than usual.

“Look— there’s got to be a mirror in this godforsaken place, where is it?”

He gestured towards the front of the house. “There’s one in the entryway.”

Anathema grabbed her bag and grasped his elbow to drag him to the entryway. Once they were standing in front of a full length rectangular mirror with an ornate gilt frame she stepped aside to let him look in the mirror. A stranger looked back at him with wide golden eyes. Snug black breeches over muscled thighs that ended just below the knee gave way to white stockings showing the curve of defined calves. The tailored black frock coat draped down from his shoulders, enhancing the lines of his tall lean frame. The only color on his ensemble was the dark red of the cravat pinned at his throat. The red of the cravat almost perfectly matched… his hair, he realized in astonishment, his hand slowly rising to touch the gleaming red color that he hadn’t seen in years pulled back into a polished queue. He turned from side to side looking at the stranger in the mirror with the high cheekbones and lean face who looked very fashionable, as if he could stroll into any high society event and look like he belonged there, and… handsome, he realized with astonishment.

Anathema chuckled softly at the look on his face, then pulled something else out of her bag and handed it to him. He took it, turning it over in his hands. It was a black leather half mask, tooled in the shape of a snake coiling around the eye openings, the fanged mouth open wide.

He looked at Anathema, the suspicion he had been too afraid to give voice to finally bubbling out of him. “Is this for— am really I going to—?” His throat choked on the words, rendering him unable to continue the sentence as he stared at her with mute pleading eyes.

Anathema smiled at him understandingly. “Yes, Crowley, you are going to the prince’s ball. But there’s not much time, you have to hurry. Here—” she thrust a large white envelope at him. “Take my invitation to get you in. And one last thing—” she pulled a small vial out the bag. “Drink this.”

More than willing to do anything Anathema asked of him, he tucked the mask and invitation under his arm and uncorked the vial.

“What is it?” he asked, sniffing at the contents and recoiling slightly at the bitter herbal smell.

“It will make you smell like an Alpha,” she replied matter of factly.

Crowley nearly dropped the vial in astonishment. “It will _what?!_ Why?” He had never heard such a thing was possible and the very idea seemed unfathomable.

Anathema pressed her lips together and her eyes flicked away uncomfortably. “You can’t go as an unclaimed Omega unescorted, Crowley. It’s not safe. These herbs have been around for a long time, they’re frowned upon, but sometimes they’re necessary.”

He looked down at the vial hesitantly. He would smell like an _Alpha? Him?_ The very concept was so foreign to the very core of his being that his mind balked, trying to accept the impossibility.

“Can’t you come with me?” he pleaded.

Anathema closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and regarded Crowley steadily. “You need to go alone. Trust me Crowley.”

He did trust her, and the Omega in him wanted to please her, so he swiftly upended the contents of the vial into his mouth and swallowed. Grimacing at the bitter taste, he handed it back to Anathema.

“Let’s go,” she said impatiently, pushing him towards the door.

He resisted. “Umm…?” he said, looking down at his stockinged feet and wiggling his toes. She followed his gaze down.

“Oh, right!” She bent down to rummage in her bag one last time and pulled out a pair of black shoes. Crowley bent down to pull them down and ran his finger over the textured surface.

“Is this covered in snakeskin?” he asked in wonderment.

“Yes, yes, goes with the costume. Come on, you have _got_ to get going,” Anathema said impatiently. She’s pushed him out the door where Bentley stood waiting. The horse whickered at him in greeting and as he mounted him . He patted Bentley’s neck as he looked down at Anathema.

“How can I ever thank you enough?” he whispered, knowing that he never could, not enough to show the depths of his gratitude.

“You deserve to be happy Crowley, never forget that,” she said earnestly. “Oh! Speaking of forgetting— I almost forgot to tell you the most important thing! The herbs wear off; you only have—“ she pulled a pocket watch from the folds of her dress and opened up to look at it, ticking hours off on her fingers. “— until about midnight before they wear off. You _must_ be home by then. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Crowley said solemnly.

“Good.” She suddenly gave him a wide smile. “Now go have fun.” she commanded with an Alpha’s bite to her tone, which made Crowley grin as she smacked Bentley on the rump, startling the horse into a trot. And so in a mind altering turn of events Crowley found himself actually setting out for the ball, feeling as though his body could barely contain the happiness that threatened to burst inside of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This was delightful fun to work out the elements to fit into the Cinderella theme. I hope you're as tickled about it as I am. I included an image of the cravat pin._
> 
> _And yes, I have always hated those diabolical toys known as jack in the boxes. (Shudder)_


	4. The First Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And the moment you all have been waiting for; they finally meet!_
> 
> _I had entirely too much fun wasting a couple of hours designing coats of arms for this story, including researching the heraldic descriptions. An illustration of Aziraphale’s coat of arms is at the end and Crowley’s will be revealed in an upcoming chapter._

Aziraphale silently cursed Gabriel yet again, fervently hoping the bastard caught the pox and his genitals fell off. _By royal command all unmarried nobles are invited..._ Once he found out about the blatant wording on the invitation that pretty much explicitly stated the Crown Prince was shopping for a spouse he was furious, but by that point the damage had been done. There went his hope of being able to try to meet someone in a setting with less pressure; now the ballroom was full of young men and women circling the large rectangular hall like vultures honing in for the kill, and his costume wasn’t nearly clever enough. Despite the mask covering the upper part of his face his white blonde curls and stout figure gave his identity away far too readily and he found himself besieged at all sides on the dance floor with bids for his attention, bright eyes glittering at him with coy smiles and focused attention on their prey.

Only one maiden made an effort to engage him in a topic that actually interested him as he danced with her, a— Hestia? Hester?— who brought up philosophy of all things, and after he recovered from his initial surprise had a pleasant dance set with her discussing the difference in theories from some the more well known philosophers. When he ventured to comment on a theory about destructive emotions related to errors of judgement he received a blank look, but that was understandable. Not everyone delighted in researching the obscure as he did.

As he escorted her back to her hawk eyed mother rather aptly dressed in a costume to match her demeanor, he exchanged the usual pleasantries as he silently evaluated the maiden. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t have acceptable bloodlines. Being a Beta avoided the power struggle that was inevitable when two gender compatible Alphas married, and Omegas had a reputation of neediness that exceeded the emotional attachment he was interested in providing. She was attractive enough with her upswept pale blonde hair, smooth complexion and dark eyes, and the fact she could hold her own in intelligent conversation was even more attractive to him. Yes, she might do well enough; he’ll keep her in mind.

He stepped away to dance with the next person he was promised to on his dance card, this one a male Omega who trembled with anxiety in his arms, barely able to make eye contact and mumbling unintelligible responses to his attempts at conversation. He sighed to himself and gave that up as a lost cause soon enough, instead focusing on enjoying the intricate steps of the set dance. His next partner was the typically aggressive female Alpha, holding his hand too tightly and trying to back lead him through the dance moves which annoyed him greatly. He discreetly massaged his sore hand as he bowed to her politely after the dance and escorted her back to her family.

He pulled his dance card from his pocket and sighed heavily, the card already full with the names of overeager potential spouses. Suddenly it all seemed too much. His mother and Gabriel be damned, he had to take a break from the insanity of the farce of a meat market the ball had become. He discreetly stepped back into the shadows of the edge of the ballroom and slipped away.

~*~O~*~

After handing off Bentley’s reins to the smartly dressed footman dressed in the royal House’s colors of gold and white, Crowley followed the milling line of costumed guests waiting to get into the palace. He approached the tall ornate doors with the royal coat of arms set into them, white wings over a laurel wreath below a five point star inlayed into the wood with gleaming metal and precious stones.

He handed over the invitation nervously, feeling sure at any moment he would be accosted with cries of _Imposter! Seize him!_ But the attendant merely glanced at the invitation in a bored manner and waved him in with no fanfare, already turning his attention to the family behind him. Dazed, Crowley stepped in and followed the line of people that apparently seemed to know where they were going.

He passed through a large entry room, then down a long hallway lined with imposing empty suits of armor and richly embroidered wall hangings depicting victories of past royalty, some of them improbable as his eyes caught one of a king with a golden light around his crown driving a lance into a winged serpent. Then he moved on into a large rectangular room that was simply _glittering_ with golden lights flickering from sconces lining the walls, gilt covered frames around the paintings on the wall, and golden streaks shot through the white marble inlaid on the floor. The room was filled with guests in all manner of finery, many in the popular light shades favored by the royal house, a sea of whites, creams, and golds whirling and twirling on the dance floor and twittering like fancy plumed birds on the sidelines… dazzled by the gorgeous opulence of it all he wasn’t paying enough attention to where he was going and bumped hard into the person in front of him.

He caught a whiff of an Alpha scent from the man dressed in a costume reminiscent of an oak tree, wearing shades of brown and a leafy coronet with acorns across his brow that turned to regard him. He froze, expecting sharp retaliation, but instead the man merely inclined his head politely and said, “My pardon, good sir.”

Stunned at the polite response of the man as if they were equals, the realization slammed through him. _It worked! The potion worked! I must actually smell like an Alpha!_ The thought made him giddy, like a naughty child getting away with filching a treat from the kitchen as he nodded back and murmured a polite apology with some semblance of composure and made sure to keep better distance after that in the steady throng of people moving forward.

He quickly descended down the stairs and made his way to the edges of the ballroom, watching the dancing. He recognized the sequenced dance as one that Anathema had taught him and yearned to join them but uncertainty thrummed in his chest. As a pretend Alpha he would be expected to be the one to ask for a dance, but he couldn’t imagine mustering up the courage to do that; too afraid he would do something foolish to give himself away. And then he belatedly remembered he didn’t know how to lead a dance, only follow, so there went that idea. He was still thrilled to be here though, he was in the _palace_ , at a _royal ball_ and even if he was only a fly on the wall watching this glittering event from afar it was still the most thrilling thing he had ever done in his life.

As he gazed around him in wonder he saw a servant clad in white and gold move through the crowds holding a tray aloft that he would present as an offering to anyone that showed an interest. Crowley watched several guests pick something small up from the tray, pull something out of it with a skewer and eat it, then place the items back on the tray. Curious, he watched as the servant came closer to him and when he caught his eye the silver filigree tray was held out to him. He looked down to see a neatly arranged row of what appeared to be… cooked snails, with empty shells and skewers to the side of them.

He stared at the tray in bewilderment. The aristocracy ate _snails?_ On _purpose?_ The very creatures he regularly picked off of the vegetable garden plants in disgust?

“Sir?” the servant asked politely, holding out the tray to him expectantly as he stood unmoving like an idiot. A flush of panic shot through him— he had to look as if he belonged here, as if he fit in. Quickly, before he could fully think about it, he grabbed a snail and a skewer and pulled the snail out of the shell, popping it into his mouth and swallowing it whole. The brief flavor that hit his tongue wasn’t bad, actually, it tasted mostly like garlic and butter, but the knowledge that he swallowed a snail was enough to make his stomach threaten to make it come back up again. He hurriedly placed the empty shell and skewer back onto the tray and moved on.

The garlic taste lingered in his mouth, which he usually liked but was an unpleasant reminder of what he just ate. Against the wall he saw a narrow table full of tall fluted glasses with an amber liquid in them that he veered towards. As he approached it the servant stationed by the table picked up a glass and held it out to him.

He took the glass and took an experimentally cautious sip. A tingling sharp sweet taste assailed his tongue. He looked at the glass in surprise, took a larger drink and then looked over at the servant in delight.

“What is this?”

The servant looked at him with some measure of surprise, but answered politely, “Champagne, sir.”

Crowley flushed behind his mask. Of course if he was actually the lord he appeared to be he would know what champagne tasted like. He would also probably enjoy slurping down an entire tray of snails, or deep fried centipedes, or whatever other impossibly disgusting food that the aristocracy thought was a delicacy.

Why had he ever thought he could blend into a place like this? He suddenly felt acutely out of his depth, the golden glitter of the room which had raised a sparkling warmth inside of him a moment ago suddenly turned sharp with barbed edges, solidifying the feeling of painful certainly that he didn’t belong here. He panicked, the stuffy heat of the room seeming to press down on him and he set down the glass and looked at the servant pleadingly.

“Is— is there somewhere I can go to get some fresh air?” he choked out.

The servant nodded understandingly. “Right this way sir.” Crowley followed him around the edge of the room to the opposite side where large double doors opened out to what appeared to be a garden. The servant swept his hand outwards with a small bow and Crowley gave him a grateful smile as he stepped outside. The air was much cooler outside and he took deep lungfuls of it to try to clear his mind as he slipped behind some bushes.

He was so engrossed in his inner turmoil that he didn’t realize he wasn’t alone until he heard someone right next to him clearing his throat delicately. He started in surprise, whirling to see a man dressed all in white regarding him from behind a feathered half mask over his eyes. The man was a little shorter than he was, with a solid frame topped by pale curls that gleamed in the light of the full moon. He lost the ability to speak for a moment as the scent of the Alpha filled his nostrils; an enticing floral scent mixed with an undefinable aroma of something that reminded him impossibly of sunshine, as if golden rays could have a scent.

The silence stretched out until it felt awkward and Crowley came to his senses, belatedly remembering the manners that Anathema had drilled into him. He gave a short courtly bow— _not too deep, I have to remember that I smell like an Alpha_ — and managed to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

“My pardon, sir, if I have intruded upon your solitude.” There. Anathema would be so proud of him.

The man merely tilted his head, a small smile playing at the edges of his rosebud lips. “Not at all. Merely taking a break from the press inside.”

Hoping to find a kindred spirit, Crowley eagerly replied, “Yes, it’s rather a lot to take in, isn’t it?” he said, waving a hand towards the ballroom.

A pale eyebrow raised over the edge of the mask. “Quite.”

Another silence descended, but it felt like a more companionable one this time. Crowley ventured to ask shyly, “Do you come to these sorts of things often?”

This time the other eyebrow joined the first to arch over the mask. “You don’t know who I am?”

Now Crowley felt stupid, like he had made another foolish mistake. He wiped his palms on his coat and said nervously, “Ah, no, terribly sorry. Would you be so kind as to enlighten me?”

The man paused, and then said with a pleased note to his voice, “Actually, if you don’t mind , the whole point behind masquerades is to enjoy a certain amount of anonymity. My costume didn’t work out as well as I thought it would for that, so it’s refreshing to find at least one person in the entire palace who doesn't know who I am. If you don’t mind terribly, perhaps we could not exchange formal introductions quite yet?”

Crowley regarded the man’s costume. He wore a white brocade frock coat over a waistcoat that small white feathers were sewn onto in neat overlapping rows. His white half mask was covered with feathers that swept across his face and his only jewelry was a gold signet ring on his left pinky. The clothing looked to be exquisitely made and rather impractical; he wondered how on earth he would manage to work any stains out of it, let alone wash something with feathers sewn onto it.

Well, Crowley could certainly understand the desire to not be judged on previous assumptions. His world was a constant in others making assumptions about him with a single glance at his simple clothes or a whiff of his Omega scent. Perhaps he and this man had that in common, wanting to escape the constraints of society’s expectations of them, even if only for one night. He bowed with a small flourish, his hand twirling forward. “Your wish is my command, angel.”

“Angel?”

He had managed to surprise the man yet again, he thought with some amusement. Perhaps he should try for a new career as the court jester at the rate he was making a fool of himself.

“Your costume; it’s supposed to look like an angel, isn’t it?” He gestured to the white plumage.

The man looked down at himself ruefully. “Oh, I see. It was supposed to represent a snowy owl, although in retrospect that was perhaps rather arrogant of me, owls being the representation of wisdom and all.”

Crowley snorted at that. “I never understood where that idea came from. Owls are pretty smart about catching rodents and that’s about it.”

The man shrugged. “Good point. Well, art can be interpreted through the eye of the beholder so perhaps one man’s owl can be another man’s angel easily enough.”

He slowly looked up and down Crowley’s costume, an appreciative glint in his eye. His voice lowered as he said “Yours, however, seems straightforward enough. Convention views serpents as dangerous, something to be feared, a fanged menace. Did you choose a costume that you perceive as emulating your own traits?”

Crowley’s mouth twitched at the absurdity of anyone viewing him as something dangerous and then outright laughed while the man watched him, smiling in response even if he obviously had no idea what was so funny.

Crowley settled down with a chuckle. “Snakes aren’t fierce unless you’re small and furry. They’re fantastic at catching mice in the garden but they’re quite shy otherwise. Have you ever held one? They’re rather fun to hold, actually, the way they wind around your arms. It’s like their whole body is hugging you.”

The man said with some amusement, “No, I can’t say that I have.”

A brief silence fell between them. The man looked back towards the ball and said, “To answer your earlier question, yes, I’ve been to these sorts of affairs far too often. I enjoyed them more when I was younger, when the pressure of society’s expectations of me were far less and far different. Now I find that it’s rather…” he drifted off thoughtfully.

“Hard to be yourself outside of the role you were born to?” Crowley asked earnestly.

The man’s eye darted back to his. “Precisely,” he said with a surprised note to his voice.

The man hesitated, looking towards the bright lights of the ballroom, then seemed to come to a decision, turning back to Crowley. “Would you care to take a stroll through the gardens with me?”

A small thrill went through Crowley at the invitation. The reality that he was at a royal ball, having a conversation as an equal with a noble felt unreal even as he nodded and they fell into step together. _It’s just because he thinks you’re an Alpha, that you’re his social equal; he wouldn’t want to spend time with who you really are_ , an annoying voice sniped at him. He firmly told the voice to shut up and savor the moment.

The man seemed to know his way readily around the large gardens, unhurriedly strolling through the manicured pathways.

Crowley said, “Everything is so perfectly landscaped here. There must be an army of gardeners to take care of it.”

“Oh, I suppose there is.” the man said, glancing around as if to see said army.

“I wonder what that’s like. Do they get in trouble if a plant dares to have leaf wilt? Do they have to water everything by hand when the weather’s dry? What do they do for pest control? People often make the mistake of killing snakes in their gardens, you know, which does nothing but benefit the rodents that eat vegetables and bulb roots.” Crowley stopped talking abruptly, realizing that he was likely going on about something that a lord would consider to be a dull conversation.

But to his surprise the man seemed to be listening to him gravely. “I’m chagrined to say that I’ve never given much thought as to what life might be like for a gardener in a place like this, nor what it might entail to maintain it. Do you partake in gardening yourself?”

Crowley hesitated, but the man appeared to be genuinely interested in his answer, so he replied in generalities, hinting that he enjoyed it as a hobby rather than one of the many chores he was assigned. As they walked their conversation wound from gardening to farming, and he found to his surprise and delight that they conversed easily with one another, and their conversation flowed from one topic to the next as they walked.

“No!” the man gasped, his hand splayed on his chest dramatically in response to Crowley’s story.

“I swear it! The goose knocked her to the ground and then plucked off her wig and ran off with it! I found her sitting on it later by the pond looking as pleased as I’ve ever seen a feathered menace look.”

The man chortled. “Did you get it back?”

Crowley looked at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? I rewarded her by bringing her extra feed for a week. That woman was a vicious gossip, a little lesson in humility probably did her some good. Besides, that gave me the best laugh I’d had in years.”

Laughing, the man said, “Maybe I should switch to geese to guard my property. I had no idea they were so fearsome.”

Pleased to make the man laugh, Crowley of course didn’t say he’d been severely punished for the geese’s antics, as if he was somehow responsible for its actions, but the sight from afar had still given him cause to laugh until tears were running down his face, which was a rare occurrence for him.

They kept talking as they strolled through the winding garden paths. Crowley normally would have been entranced by the beautiful gardens they were strolling through but he could barely pay any attention to the greenery, too enraptured by the man beside him. The man spoke confidently but not arrogantly; he seemed genuinely interested in Crowley’s opinions and wasn’t at all put off by Crowely sometimes disagreeing with him.

“...no, angel, you’ve got it all wrong, I don’t think the working class really cares that taxes were raised because our trade income suffered from storms. They want to know that they won’t be taxed into poverty, that the Crown will take care of them when times are hard, that—”

He was cut off by suddenly hearing a loud bossy voice from the other side of a row of rose bushes. “Are you sure he’s not in the blasted library again?” An indistinct mumble in response. “Well _find him_ you idiots! I’ll drag him back to the ballroom by his ear if I have to!”

Crowley saw the man grimace, ducking his head and tensing as he looked towards the voice. Crowley realized that the exchange had something to do with the man and he was obviously unhappy about it. Well, avoiding unpleasant situations was something he had quite a lot of practice with. He quickly snatched up the man’s hand and when the man looked at him in surprise he quirked his lips into a smile and hunched over, walking silently but swiftly down the path. The man let himself be led and when they came to the end of the row of rose buses the man tugged on his hand to guide him towards dense hedges that grew twice as tall as he was. Just as they reached an opening in the middle they heard a shout— “I think I see him! Over there!”— and they both broke into a run into the opening.

Crowley realized they were running in a hedge maze, but the man easily maneuvered them through it, unhesitatingly making turns left and right even though Crowley was lost after the first few turns. It struck him as utterly ridiculous; that he was running through a maze at the royal palace hand in hand with an enticing noble, being chased for reasons unknown, and having the time of his life doing it. He started laughing at the absurdity of it and the man looked over at him and started laughing himself, while also trying to make shushing noises. Crowley clapped his free hand over his mouth to stifle the noise but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop, and he was still giggling like a schoolgirl when they finally exited the far side of the maze, stumbling to a walk.

The man seemed to be doing a better job of stifling his own laughter but grinned at Crowley and rolled his eyes at him in a way that seemed affectionate rather than annoyed. He glanced behind them and tugged on their still joined hands, whispering “This way.”

It was darker in this part of the gardens, farther away from the lights of the ballroom with only the silvery light of the bright moon to illuminate their surroundings. They passed a few couples, most arm in arm leaning close together and murmuring quiet words to one another. The man led him to an orchard of perfectly pruned apple trees and stepped into them, but not far into the orchard he paused at hearing sounds. Crowley listened, then was glad for the night sky hiding what he knew would be a fiery red blush on his face as he realized it was the sounds of a couple in the throes of passion. He didn’t consider himself a prude; he’d been around farm animals his entire life and had helped James arrange the right pairing when Anathema’s mares went into heat, but his personal experience with such things were, well, limited to say the least.

He looked sidelong at the man to judge his reaction but he just appeared amused and looked back at Crowley with a twinkle in his eye. He placed a finger to his lips and gestured, and they quietly made their way past the amorous pair to the other side of the orchard where they came upon a small secluded grassy area in front of a stone bench under a large trellis covered in plants. They walked over to the bench slowly, Crowley acutely aware of their still joined hands and not at all sure what to do about it. He rather liked the feel of the hand that fit so neatly in his but they barely knew each other, and was the man just being polite? Should he let go? After their short burst of running the man’s Alpha scent was stronger, tantalizing in a way he had never smelled before, and it was taking more and more of his self control not to lean over closer to the man’s neck and take a deep breath of that heavenly scent. That would be atrociously inappropriate, however, and he looked around wildly for something to distract himself with. His eyes fell upon the plant covering the trellis that had large showy pale trumpet shaped flowers.

“Why, I think that’s Devil’s Trumpet!” he exclaimed. “I saw these in a book once; apparently they only bloom at night. I don’t know why they’re called the Devil’s Trumpet though, they look too pretty to be called something evil.”

The man leaned his shoulder into him slightly. “I suspect it’s because they’re highly poisonous.”

Crowley glanced sidelong at him, acutely aware of the slight touch. Despite the layers of clothing between them he could swear he could feel the heat of the arm against his; a heat that seemed to spread like liquid fire through his body.

“Really?” he said, aware it wasn’t the most witty thing he could have said but desperate to keep the conversation going as long as he could before the enchanting man by his side tired of him and excused himself to find more interesting company.

The man turned his attention from the plant to look at Crowley, his eyes intent and dark in the moonlight. “Oh yes. It’s got quite a dark history, has been used to poison some well known figures in the past.”

Crowley felt sure his heart was going to hammer right out of his chest at the way the man was looking at him, his eyes lingering on his mouth and a slightly musky scent underlying the bright florals… he wrenched his hapless thoughts in to some semblance of order as he realized he had been silent for too long staring at the man’s mouth.

“Oh, I, um, see. Right. Yes. Um, then it seems to me that it’s either very brave or very foolhardy of the royal family to grow it right under their noses.”

Without breaking the gaze that seemed like it could swallow Crowley whole, the man stepped in front of him, his eyes gleaming from behind the feathered mask. He murmured, “I rather think it might be out of a desire to keep dangerous things close to them.”

The words didn’t make much sense to Crowley but he supposed that it was likely due to a sudden increase of tension in the crackling silence that fell between them. There was a spike in the Alpha’s scent that he was helpless to keep himself from responding to as he felt a wave of arousal hit him so hard he swayed slightly with the force of it. His fingers tightened in the man’s hand and gasped softly as the man took a step towards him, and then his face moved closer, and closer… Crowley watched with trembling anticipation as the man’s eyelids slid shut just as… _oh stars in Heaven he was kissing him!_

He had convinced a housemaid to kiss him a few glorious times a couple of summers ago, but then they had almost gotten caught, and the mortified maid wouldn’t go near him after that. His only other experience had been some enthusiastic kissing and some roaming hands with a carpenter’s son who had accompanied his father when the Pulcifier’s had expanded their son’s bedroom. He had enjoyed both encounters immensely but _this_ made those experiences pale in comparison. This was no flustered hesitant maid or teenage boy with more enthusiasm than expertise; this was a grown man who was moving his mouth against his with supreme confidence, his tongue sliding against the seam of his mouth and when Crowley opened his mouth reflectively the man’s tongue swept in without hesitation, setting his nerve endings on fire with a searing kiss.

Their masks bumped against each other making it slightly awkward but the man made no move to remove them, so Crowley followed his lead. Besides, he didn’t want to do anything that could possibly break the spell of this glorious kissing. Strong hands slid alongside his jaw to gently guide him to tilt his head a little, oh they fit together even better now… Crowley moaned deep in his throat and he felt the man smile against his lips before sinking down into him again, licking deep into his mouth. He dimly felt one of the man’s hands moving down to his back, firm caresses that pulled them together tightly while the other moved to the back of his neck, his thumb gliding against the sensitive skin of his throat.

He realized that his own hands were frozen, hovering in the air like a pair of useless fluttering birds and he finally let them reach forward and circle around the man’s back, feeling the stiff brocade of his coat under his palms. He wanted to let them rise up and sink into those bright curls to see if they felt as soft as they looked but that somehow seemed too forward, too intimate despite the fact that their tongues were currently entangled in a manner that made his knees loosen as if they were in danger of forever forgetting how to stay upright.

He felt like he could kiss like this forever while the sun rose and fell around them, slightly astonished that this obviously high born, attractive man wanted to do this with him, who was kissing him with increasing ferver, his mouth pressed into him more firmly, his hands all over him, touching him, oh, there was so much touching and he reveled in it, not realizing until now that he had been so thirsty to be touched that he felt like his body had been parched and was just now soaking up the first drops of rain after a very long drought.

One of those glorious hands slid down between them and palmed the rapidly growing erection in Crowley’s breeches, the electric pleasurable shock of it bringing him abruptly aware of what was going on. He suddenly realized that the man probably wanted to— to— he broke off the kiss, panting, trying frantically to think which was surprisingly difficult with the man’s hand still pressed against his cock.

The man leaned forward to press a kiss to the side of his jaw and murmured in a low voice, “Masquerades provide the delightful opportunity for anonymity that is very enticing. Would you mind if we kept our masks on while we do this?”

For a minute Crowley was lost as to his meaning; they already had kept their masks on while kissing, but then as the man stroked him with obvious intent that sent another jolt through him he realized that that he meant to keep them on _while having sex_. Shocked, he let go of the man and stepped back in a panic, he’d never— he wasn’t ready— but the Alpha wanted him and he needed to submit— a distressed sound escaped him as he pressed his shaking hands against his eyes.

“Oh, no, oh, my dear. I’m _so_ sorry— did I completely misread your intent? I thought that— never mind, oh goodness it appears I’ve made a mess of things.”

The distress in the man’s voice pulled him out of his panic, and Crowley managed to lower his hands to see the man regarding him with obvious concern, his eyes wide and his hands held tightly together in front of him. He felt like a complete idiot. The Alpha had taken him to a secluded place, he had a sense that the man was attracted to him, what did he think would happen? He was beyond lucky that this Alpha seemed kind, many others would simply take an Omega in this situation whether they were willing or not. Oh, but he smelled like an Alpha, he remembered belatedly. Still, what he allowed to happen was incredibly stupid and he turned his head away in shame.

“M’sorry.” he managed. “I— I liked kissing you, very much but I— uh— was a bit too fast for me, is all.”

“There is _absolutely_ no need to apologize dear boy, it is I that should be apologizing to you. I should not have presumed and I dearly hope that I have not ruined any favorable impression you may have had of me,” the man said earnestly.

That caused Crowley to turn back to him and say, “Oh, no, angel, you’re _wonderful_.” He felt a flush of embarrassment at the fervent tone in his voice.

“Er, nyeah, well, don’t let it go to your head or you’ll be sprouting a halo next,” he said at an attempt at levity.

The man let out a relieved chuckle, and they stood in awkward silence for a moment. Crowley shifted his feet uneasily trying to think of what to do next. He already missed the easy dialogue they had together just a short time before but didn’t know if it was possible to settle back into that after the monumental mistake he’d made. And well, if he was honest with himself he also desperately missed the kissing, but he was feeling rather mortified about that situation and didn’t have the slightest idea how he could convey a request for more kissing without things going further or even if the man would be interested in that.

“Perhaps you would like to sit with me on the bench for a while? I promise I won’t try to ravish you,” the man said with a tentative smile.

Crowley felt appreciative for the man’s consideration but also vaguely disappointed at that last statement. He blurted out, “I liked some of the ravishing,” then was grateful for the moonlight which hopefully hid his fiery blush as he looked down at the ground rather wishing it would swallow him whole to keep him from making a further fool of himself.

But the man huffed out a short delighted laugh in response and said “I’m glad to hear it my dear.”

The man turned to sit down on the bench, his hand patting the stone seat in invitation. After a brief hesitation, Crowley sat down next to him, their thighs touching on the small seat.

After a few halting starts, to Crowley’s delight they did manage to settle back into the easy conversation they had on their walk here, winding around various topics from historical figures that had been poisoned from the Devil’s Trumpet, to the merits of encouraging snakes verses cats for pest control, and onto the man talking excitedly about the a century old treaty and what that did for the value of the textile trade— “Did you know we didn’t have silk before that? Can you _imagine_ not having that luxurious fabric to wear?”

Well, Crowley could imagine it quite well since the only silk he got to touch was his stepfamily's clothes when he washed them, but he just smiled in delight, enjoying hearing the sound of the man’s voice about something he was obviously enthusiastic about. And _oh_ , when the angel smiled what Crowley could see of his face seemed to light up, making him shine brighter in the light of the silver moon, as if he could be the ethereal being that Crowley has mislabeled him as. But it seemed fitting, for how could he not be something from the Heavens by the way Crowley was feeling just by being by his side? At some point their shoulders had connected and they were leaning into each other. He looked down bemusedly wondering when they had started holding hands, feeling the brush of the man’s thumb moving absently over his knuckles like the gentle caresses over a flower petal.

He came to realize that the man had stopped speaking and was also looking down at their hands. A silence settled between them and Crowley found himself wishing they could stay like this all night… he frowned and looked up into the night sky.

“What time is it?”

The man pulled a pocket watch out of his waistcoat with his free hand and peered at it, angling to read it in the moonlight.

“Mmm, it looks like it’s five minute to midnight.”

Crowley bolted upright in alarm, adrenaline pushing him to his feet. The elixir was going to wear off! _No, no, no, no, no, it can’t be over already, there wasn’t enough time to_ — he exhaled sharply. Time to do what? He knew that this was going to be a one time experience, and that it had to come to an end.

“I have to go, it’s been wonderful to meet you, so wonderful, you have no idea, thank you for a wonderful time—” Great, now he was babbling like an halfwit, how many more times could he shove the word ‘wonderful’ into a single sentence?

The man also stood, his eyes wide in surprise behind his mask. “Are you sure you have to go? But— what’s your name? Where do you live? I’d very much like to see you again.”

Crowley hesitated, wanting to stay so badly it was like a vise pressing in his chest. If only he could snap his fingers and stop time, freeze the ugly reality of the world around them so that it could be just the two of them forever...

The man raised a hand to him, palm up as if inviting him to dance. Crowley’s own hand lifted to reach back as if in a dream, his hand sliding on top of the man’s palm, feeling fingers curl underneath his to tug him closer— but then with a strangled cry he snatched his hand back and flung himself around, breaking into a run, his jaw clenching at the cry of “Wait!” behind him.

He ran through the orchard, past the clearing now devoid of strolling couples, stopped short at the hedge maze in frustration, how on earth was he going to manage to remember how to get through it— but then he saw he could go around it and ran to the side, his legs pumping steadily and propelling him past the maze to the other side where he could see the golden glow spilling from the windows of the ball room ahead. There were more people here, some of whom turned and looked at him oddly to see him running, so he slowed to a less conspicuous brisk walk, finding his way to the front and then impatiently waiting for Bentley to be brought to him. Riding away from the castle, he turned in the saddle to cast a last longing look at it before cantering around a bend and it was lost to sight.

As he neared his house he saw a figure on a horse standing by the side of the road. As he came closer he saw to his surprise it was Newton, who raised his hand in greeting.

“I sent Anathema to bed,” he said with a yawn. “I’ll take Bentley back for you.”

The consideration and caring the Pulcifer’s had shown him threatened to bring tears to Crowley’s eyes. He dismounted, gripping Newton’s hands when he handed over Bentley’s reins.

“Thank you so much. It was… magical,” he said earnestly.

Newton smiled down at him kindly. “It’s no problem. Anathema always knows best and you’re a good lad. You deserve to have some fun.” With that he squeezed Crowley’s hands and turned down the road towards his home.

The house was still and dark as he crept in up to his room. He knew from experience that his stepfamily wasn’t likely to be back until near dawn, wringing every drop of social ladder climbing from the event until it closed down. Perhaps if Hester did somehow manage to ensnare the prince into marrying her they would all move to the palace and leave him here by himself. Now that was a pleasant thought. But an even more pleasant thought was bright curls gleaming in the moonlight, of eyes that sparkled as they looked at him, of soft lips pressed against his own… he smiled as he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I know several of you were looking forward to our favorite boys dancing; but be patient, there’s two more balls to go!_
> 
> _What do you imagine that Aziraphale thought of what happened?_


	5. Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _For those of you who wondered what Aziraphale thought in the last chapter, here you go. I had lot of fun writing this chapter and working in a bit more world building._

After searching for the darkly attired man in vain, Aziraphale stood for a time in the darkness of the garden to settle the unusual uneasy roll of his emotions before he reluctantly returned to the ballroom. He ignored Gabriel’s obnoxious glare as he dutifully resumed making the rounds and fulfilling the remaining obligations on his dance card. He was aware he was being poor company however, failing at being able to maintain witty conversation as his thoughts kept returning to the man behind the serpent mask whose company he had found so alluring tonight. He absently made agreeable responses to the various young men and women who were vying for his attention while trying to recall if he had ever met the man before. Although the mask obscured the upper half of his face he didn’t think he remembered ever seeing that tall slender frame and alluringly red hair above the delectable mouth that smiled at him so readily…

Initially he had been skeptical of the Alpha's claim that he didn’t know who he was, and as they wandered into the secluded area well known for quiet dark places that couples could slip off for a discrete tryst, he was positive the Alpha had drawn them in that direction on purpose, enticed by the idea of having intimate relations with the Prince. And he certainly hadn’t minded the idea. He found the man increasingly more attractive as the evening went on, both physically and by the delightfully open and easy way they conversed. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so free to talk without feeling like he had to guard his tongue lest he be judged and found wanting for too little or too much of the proper amount of interest in acceptable topics.

But not once did the other man seem haughty or judgmental, or even bring up court politics, or fashion, or the state of the weather, or other such stiflingly common topics among the aristocracy. Although he didn’t seem particularly well versed in some of the subjects Aziraphale brought up, he displayed a refreshingly inquisitive nature and encouraged Aziraphale to tell him more. He also shared his own opinions, initially with some reservation, then with more enthusiasm as the night went on, and somehow Aziraphale now knew more about the habits of garden snakes than he ever thought he’d have cause to know, which delighted his own endless thirst for knowledge. 

So as they drew closer to a secluded place away from prying eyes he was quietly thrilled that the man was obviously interested in a tryst, thinking about how lovely it would be to have a pleasant physical interlude as a bright spot in the otherwise dreadful event that the ball had become. There was no mistaking that the man was attracted to him in return, his rather intoxicating scent of spiced apples with an earthy undertone spiked with his arousal, and the fully eager way he had responded to his kiss was utterly delightful. He wanted to hear more of those lovely little sounds the man had made while they kissed, but perhaps louder, and drenched in passion as Aziraphale brought them both closer and closer to their orgasams...

Arousal had thrummed through him at the thought, simmering underneath the surface of his skin. They would have to negotiate terms first, of course, since they were both Alphas, but he didn’t get the sense the man would insist on dominating and maybe they could work out something more balanced...

He was lost in the moment luxuriating in the feel of the man pressed against him and the wonderfully hard erection under his hand as he murmured the request about keeping their masks on into the man’s ear. When the other man suddenly jerked away, leaving Aziraphale with the odd sensation that his arms were achingly empty, he looked up in surprise to see the man looking utterly shocked with a bewildering tinge of fear. 

_He really doesn’t know who I am_ , he realized, a flood of shame sinking into him as he became uncomfortably aware of his rather arrogant assumptions. He found himself quite afraid that he’d made an irrecoverable ass of himself and this delightful man would want nothing more to do with him and turn to stride angrily away into the darkness, never to be seen again.

Happiness was a fragile fleeting thing for him, a seldom felt emotion that tugged at him, pulling forth in long sticky strands another emotion that he typically firmly suppressed of… yearning. He had long ago accepted his fate and role in life, recognizing the futility and waste of time it would be to wish for anything different, and was content with that. But actual happiness was a far cry from contentment, and as the evening with the serpent masked man progressed he didn’t even recognize the insidious creep of that particular emotion until it was replaced by the fear that through his own dreadful error in judgment he would drive away the source of that elusive feeling of happiness. 

He felt as if there was something precariously delicate hovering between them when he entreated the man to stay, to sit on the bench with him. It was only through years of practice of hiding his emotions at court that he was able to keep the raw need clawing at his insides from his voice as he entreated the man to stay, and the flood of relief when the Alpha accepted was nearly palpable as a soothing balm across sun scorched skin.

And as they sat shoulder to shoulder the scent of spiced apples felt as if it was wafting like invisible smoke over and into him permeating his very being, easing his thrumming anxiety and then as the Alpha leaned into him, Aziraphale’s fretfulness that he was beyond forgiveness settled further at the contact. When he tentatively slid his hand into the one next to him on the bench in response a rippling feeling of possessive satisfaction went through him when the man didn’t pull away and their hands curled around each other.

He knew with a sharp biting awareness on the edge of his mind that he shouldn’t linger there, he could almost hear Gabriel’s voice in his head berating him for wasting his time with an Alpha male. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave, not with the scent of spiced apple filling his nose causing a pleased warmth to coil deep within his chest, soothing his inner Alpha in an undefinable way. 

But then that feeling was abruptly turned upside into acute dismay as the softly woven strands of intimacy between them turned brittle and shattered. He inwardly floundered, confused and struggling to accept the sudden change between them when the man jerked away and leapt to his feet when he found out the time. Why on earth did he suddenly have to leave? The Alpha was bewilderingly frantically insistent about it, and then literally running away despite Aziraphale’s best efforts to follow him, anxious to find out his name, so he could— what?— he had to ask himself as he finally had to come to a stop from running, which his body was clearly not built for, trying to catch his breath. It’s not like he could court the man, no matter that he was the one person who he felt some actual interest in ever since the pressure to marry started.

He wearily bid the last few guests goodbye as the thin rays of the dawn began to lighten the horizon and made his way to his bedchamber, wondering where the man behind the serpent mask was sleeping tonight as his valet undressed him and he climbed underneath the plush comforter, alone. 

~*~O~*~

Crowley woke the morning after the ball with a wide smile on his face that puzzled him until he remembered what he had to be so happy about, the memory of last night flooding him with dizzying clarity. He fairly leaped from his bed to get dressed, too full of giddy happiness to be able to lie still. Hurriedly tying his hair back, his thoughts were so saturated of thinking about the events of the night before he took two steps out of his room before he remembered that he hadn’t darkened his hair. And that realization brought the crashing memory of his father’s fine clothing being viciously torn into rags on his body and of his stepmother looking distinctly pleased with her cold green eyes glinting in satisfaction at the sight of the crushed and bleeding dreams written all over his face. 

Shaking, he stepped back into his room and closed the door, leaning his forehead against it. His breathing quickened, coming in short gasping pants at the abruptly rising fear of the retaliation he might be facing when he went downstairs crashed through the sense of happiness he desperately tried to cling to. _Just breathe you idiot, this isn’t helping._ With an effort, he forced himself to take slow deep breaths to steady himself. Whatever was going to happen, he could take it and it had been worth it, he said to himself fiercely. For one night he had the incredible luck to experience magic. Not only the magic of being at a royal ball but also the magic of kissing under the stars, of feeling wanted by a glorious man— _he held his hand! he kissed him!_ That was something that he will carry with him as a small bright flame for the rest of his life and it was a memory his stepfamily can never take away from him. 

He went through the work of darkening his hair again and with another steadying breath, opened his door and quietly went downstairs to start on his chores. To his surprise and intense gratitude at whatever god might be smiling down on him, his stepfamily seemed determined to ignore him, apparently far too distracted by the events of the ball to be concerned about their insignificant family member. 

Hester was full of maniacally excited chatter about how the prince had danced with her twice and surely that meant he favored her— “Did you see, Mother, did you see when he escorted me back to you he kept his hand on my arm _the entire time?_ And I swear he looked at me more than any other of his dance partners, I’m sure of it—”

“Yes, yes, it was a very promising evening, although I am severely disappointed in you for not being able to continue engaging him on the philosophy of stoicism,” his stepmother interjected with irritation in her voice.

Hester whined, “But it's _such_ a terribly dull topic mother, I simply cannot _imagine_ why he would want to talk about it in the first place, really, I may simply faint away from boredom—”

“You only have to pretend to be interested up to the point where he places a coronet on your head you idiot girl, then you can indulge yourself in whatever your empty little head desires,” his stepmother said sharply. 

Hester pouted, looking very put upon, then brightened. “Ooo, just _think_ about how positively green with envy my friends will be when I marry the prince! Some of them put on such airs, I swear. I’m going to make them all curtsy to me, and if they don’t do it deep enough, then I’ll— I’ll—” her limited imagination seemed to fail her as she cast about for a dire enough punishment “I’ll say something very cutting, I’m sure, and then…”

Crowley shook his head to himself as he hid in the hallway waiting for them to exit the dining room so he could clear the dishes. He again felt a flash of sympathy for the unsuspecting prince. No matter how much privilege the poor bastard had, he likely didn’t deserve this level of conniving. 

In the days that followed he did his absolute best to be out of sight of his stepfamily as much as possible, especially Ligur, but fortunately the worst that Ligur did was shove him hard against the wall with his shoulder when they passed in the hallway, so Crowley considered himself lucky.

He didn’t have the opportunity to sneak off to Anathema's house until a week later when his step family finally left the house for an outdoor picnic event with other members of the aristocracy. As soon as their carriage was out of sight he darted out of the house, eagerly eating up the distance to the Pulcifier’s with long strides of his legs. Upon approaching the manor, he grinned to see two of his favorite people kicking a ball back and forth in front of it. Upon spotting Crowley Owen promptly lost interest in the ball his mother had just kicked to him and pummeled towards him, his little arms outstretched. 

“Crowee! You go dancing?”

Crowley scooped Owen up, smiling down at him. “I went to a ball, but I didn’t actually do any dancing at it.”

Owen bounced up and down in Crowley’s arms. “Dance wif me!”

To Owen, dancing meant being spun around in circles until they were both dizzy. Crowley obliged, eventually staggering to a stop despite Owen’s giggles and demands for “Faster!”

“Much faster and I’ll fall, you little hellion,” Crowley said breathlessly as he ruffled Owen’s dark hair. His mussing didn’t make much of an effect, as Owen’s hair took after his father’s; looking as if it had never seen the sight of a comb mere moments after being brushed.

He walked over to Anathema on unsteady legs to lean into her as she gave him a strong hug. She pulled back to smile at his wide grin. 

“I take it you had a good time, then?”

“Oh, he was _wonderful!_ ” He blushed fiercely, realizing his slip, and ducked his head, hastily stammering, “I— I mean, erm, it was wonderful, the ball I mean.”

Her smile spread knowingly as she bumped him with her shoulder affectionately. “Come join us for lunch and you can tell me all about this wonderful man of yours.”

He followed her inside to the dining room, all the while stumbling and tripping over his words protesting that the man wasn’t _his_ man, he was just someone he had met, but he gave up on that soon enough and breathlessly regaled her with tales over lunch of how they had met, and then walked and talked for what felt like forever, the ridiculous fun of running away from unknown pursuers hand in hand, and even stammered and blushed over telling her that they had kissed.

Anathema listened indulgently, a pleased smile on her face, and when he finally wound down, giddy at finally being able to tell someone about his magical night, said, “You’ll see him again, of course, at the ball next week.”

“Oh, I, uh, couldn’t possibly—”

She cut him off, not unkindly. “Of course you can, and you will. I’ll send Newton with Bentley to wait for you partway down the road to our house so that you don’t have to walk so far.” She got up from the dining table to walk over to the sideboard, opening a drawer and pulling out a small cloth bag. She walked back and handed it to him.

“Here is another elixir to change your scent. Remember, it only lasts about four hours so you must leave the ball before it wears off,” she told him sternly. 

He took the bag, looking at it and fingering the soft cloth, a choppy short of regret with a tinge of the familiar shame of being an Omega coloring the edge of his emotions. “I wish I didn’t have to use this.”

Anathema’s expression softened. “As do I Crowley. Unfortunately this is the world that we live in and you have to keep yourself safe.”

He nodded reluctantly and thrust the pouch into his pocket with a sigh, wanting to think about something more cheerful. He turned to play with Owen, helping him line up toy soldiers and battle them with pirate ships, which mostly consisted of knocking them down with great swipes of the toy boat while roaring like a dinosaur. On the way out Crowley stopped by the paddock to give Bentley some apples before heading home, practically skipping all the way at the heady thought of going to the next ball. _And hopefully see the angel again_ … he thought to himself with a thrill of anticipation. 

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale tossed down the paperwork he had been trying to work through with a frown. His ability to concentrate over the past week had been a fickle, fluttering thing, taking flight at irregular intervals. An annoying awareness of the column of his throat, a not quite there itch at the sensitive skin inside of his elbows, legs that kept shifting minutely, all culminating in a restlessness that was affecting his work and causing him to sleep even less than he usually did. He sighed, reluctantly realizing that part of the problem was probably that it had been too long since he had attended to the urges that were an inevitable burden of being an Alpha. 

He picked up the ornate brass letter opener shaped like a sword and idly toyed with it, turning it over in his hands as he considered going to one of the high end establishments that catered to the aristocracy. He much preferred a professional setting in which to take care of his needs rather than keep a paramour as was fairly common among the nobility, as he wasn’t interested in the upkeep that a paramour would entail, or the risk of an emotional entanglement that would likely not only be one sided on their part, but also a be a distraction to his duties. 

Hmm, yes. A visit did indeed feel necessary. He set down the letter opener with finality and stood, tugging his cream colored waistcoat down as he exited his office and purposefully strode down the hall with the intent of going to his preferred establishment, his mind already going through the possibilities of the staff that worked there. The last time he was there he had a very pleasant interlude with a male Beta, Eric, he remembered his name was, who enjoyed submitting to the needs of an Alpha to dominate. Eric had been lovely, with dark skin and almond shaped eyes, and had a sweetness about him that was very attractive. 

He generally preferred partners with a male primary gender which brought him some disquiet when he thought about it as he was well aware that it was likely a contributing factor in his distaste for getting married. A male Alpha or Beta for a spouse was automatically out of the question because he couldn’t procreate with them, and a male Omega had the reputation for clinging emotional neediness that he couldn’t fathom having the capacity to provide. He was selfish of his private time and personal interests; giving that up to cater to a spouse that through no fault of their own needed high amounts of attention would not be satisfactory to either of them, and he had no wish to be the cause of another’s unhappiness. 

Aside from some curious dabbling when he was younger he generally wasn’t all that interested in females. He did occasionally indulge; such as when he was in the rare mood for something more feisty he would select Lily, a dark haired Alpha with a fiery personality that was exhilarating, if a bit exhausting, in the bedroom. 

But today he was definitely in the mood for a man’s shape against his own. He idly pictured the male staff in his mind, dismissing one after the other until he realized with a frown that he’d run through them all and didn’t want any of them. His steps slowed to a stop as he stared unseeing at a painting of some long dead relative on the wall. He could feel the familiar tension in his body, the need for release and to express his dominance with a willing partner, so why didn’t he want any of the men? He ran through their faces in his mind again, trying to figure out what he was desiring, no, no, no, none of them had… red hair; he realized with a jolt. 

He resisted the urge to smack his forehead in a decidedly undignified fashion. _Damn it._ It wasn’t just that his body needed release, it seemed to very specifically want release with that Alpha he had spent an admittedly very enjoyable handful of hours with at the ball. The Alpha that he had impulsively broke all of his own carefully imposed rules to have a tryst with out in the garden, willfully ignoring the fact that he was shirking his duty by spending time with him instead of continuing in the tedious circuit of assessing his dance partners for their suitability like considering a horse’s merits before purchasing. An image flashed through his mind of walking down a row of potential suitors, each with their mouth open obediently waiting for the prince to inspect their teeth. No doubt that would be something Gabriel would happily arrange if he thought that it would drag him one step closer to the bonds of matrimony, he thought wryly.

 _Why_ did the one person he felt a very real connection to at the ball have to be an Alpha male? It was wrong on so many levels and he _absolutely_ must not engage with the man any further, even if he shows up to the next two balls. His personal desires were irrelevant, he was a Prince of the realm and he absolutely would _not_ give into the temptation to do anything less than his duty when it came to the needs of the kingdom. 

Resolutely ignoring the twinge of regret following that resolution that was so bitter he could almost taste it, he considered continuing to the bordello, but found that he had lost his taste for the idea. He decided to return to his bedchamber to take himself in hand, which he knew wouldn’t take care of all of his needs but would at least take the edge off. 

Shortly afterwards he flopped back on his bed, panting and out of sorts in a way that his self administrations had never left him feeling before. He had begun by efficiently pulling down his breeches and underdrawers and setting to his task somewhat impersonally. Just a necessary act to help relax him so that he could get rid of this annoying itch pushing at him. But despite his best efforts, as his fingers wrapped around his thickening shaft and he began stroking unbidden images flooded his closed eyes of a particular lean body against his, imagining certain slender fingers wrapped around him intimately… the smell of spiced apples… his hand stilled as he wrenched open his eyes to stare at the ceiling, struggling to try to think of something or someone else. But even with his eyes open he still could almost feel the mouth under his that had opened so sweetly for him, and the feeling of the shape of the man’s erection under his palm… he gave in with a groan, his eyes squeezing shut and his hand furiously pumping as he relived the experience. He came quickly and hard, groaning as his back arched up from the mattress. 

His eyes slowly opened as his fantasy gave way to reality. _“Damn it.”_ he muttered in exasperation. 

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale excused himself on the pretext of feeling peckish and sighed inwardly at the barrage of offers to fetch him any sort of morsel his princely self might desire from the heavily laden picnic tables. He firmly demurred, stating that he preferred to pursue the choices himself, and set off briskly towards the table before any of the young barracudas could invite themselves to accompany him. 

He rarely came to these sorts of events, the outdoor soirée swarming with highborn made worse by the well-being known fact that he was in the market to be married— _damn you again Gabriel!_ — but he told himself that it would be another good opportunity to discourse with a potential spouse. His mother had made it very clear that she disapproved of his newfangled idea of choosing his own spouse instead of acquiescing to the traditional arranged marriage but that she would go along with it provided, she told him with command ringing like steel in her voice, that he announce his engagement at the third and final ball. 

But he found himself repeatedly looking past the sea of faces around him, searching in vain for dark red hair and despite his pulse increasing every time he saw a tall slender masculine profile with dark hair from a distance he was invariably disappointed as they turned and the nose and mouth didn’t match the visage that haunted his thoughts.

Despite knowing that he absolutely must not pursue the mysterious man he had met last week he couldn’t stop his mind from circling back to him like a wolf closing in on its prey, all hungry eyes and mouth salivating in anticipation of a morsel of sustenance. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked so easily with someone and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from wondering who he was, if he would see him again, if he would kiss him again… for the thousandth time he helplessly replayed the feeling of that receptive mouth and body against his; oddly gentle for an Alpha but so very, very alluring...

He automatically put food on his plate and moved off to the side, picking at it without really tasting it. A shadow fell across him and he looked up to see Gabriel standing next to him. 

“Should I have someone bring you a luncheon before you dive straight into dessert?”

Aziraphale looked down at his plate. He hadn’t even realized he had filled his plate from the dessert table. He didn’t have much of an appetite today anyway, so despite the fact that he couldn’t care less about the snide implication of the bit of a belly he had developed over the past few years he set the plate aside.

“Don’t you have something better to do today than criticize my food choices? Surely there’s a small child that’s in dire need of having their candy taken from them.”

Gabriel sniffed disdainfully. “Your mother is asking me about what progress you have made.”

 _Why can’t she ask me herself?_ Aziraphale thought sourly, annoyed that yet again his aloof mother preferred to parent him from afar, if her supercilious orders could be called that. He tried to think of what he could say to get Gabriel off of his back. 

“That Morningstar girl seemed nice enough. Hestia, I think?”

“Hester,” Gabriel corrected with a touch of disapproval, as if of course Aziraphale should have memorized the names of everyone in the noble Houses as thoroughly as he had. He nodded. “Yes, she has very good bloodlines and her mother has a great deal of influence with the other Houses. I believe she is here, shall I arrange for you to take a stroll along the lake with her?”

Aziraphale tried to muster up some enthusiasm for the idea but the most he could manage was a sort of lackluster feeling like the tail flopping of a dying fish on land.

“No, I feel… a headache and would be terrible company I’m afraid. There’s still time to meet with her again and other prospects later.”

Never one to let a matter drop once he had his pearly white teeth in it, the adviser said “Your mother would approve of a Morningstar match. Very practical choice.”

 _Practical._ The fate of his matrimonial happiness was reduced to practicality. 

“Yes, well, there’s two more balls to go before I have to choose,” he said with finality. He was wasting his time here. “I’m heading back to the castle. Send my tailor to me at his earliest convenience please.”

“Yes, your Highness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Argh, I went back and forth as to whether or not I should include the stereotypical angsty wank, but that part of the story practically wrote itself and it felt like it would be the inevitable conclusion, so I gave in. Sometimes a writer simply has to bow to the demands of their muse._


	6. The Second Ball Part 1

As soon the door closed behind his stepfamily as they left for the ball Crowley leapt up from where he was crouched at the top of the stairs and ran to the kitchen sink, rubbing soap into his hair and hastily washing it until the water ran clear. Briskly toweling it dry, he ran back upstairs, taking the steps two at a time and pulled a chest out from under his bed. Throwing it open, he smiled as he traced his fingers along the sinuous serpent shape on the mask before setting it aside and replacing his threadbare clothes with the dark finery of his costume.

He uncorked the vial Anathema had given him and grimaced in anticipation of the acrid taste, briefly considering pouring honey into it to make it more palatable but decided against it in case it affected the elixir’s properties. He drank it quickly, rinsing his mouth with water, and after patting his pocket to make sure the precious invitation was still there, he eagerly set out on the road. Sure enough there was Newton waiting for him, holding Bentley’s reins. 

“There you are lad. Ah, come here, let me fix that for you.” Newton reached out and plucked out his crooked cravat pin, readjusting his cravat and then replacing the pin through the folds. 

Crowley took the reins and mounted Bentley, looking at the road to the castle with a swooping fluttering in his stomach reminiscent of drunken butterflies unsuccessfully attempting a jig, all tangled limbs and stumbling steps. He hesitated, then looked back at Newton who smiled at him encouragingly and made a shooing motion with his hand. Taking a deep breath, he slid the mask over his face and nudged at Bentley’s flanks to set off for the castle at a trot, thrumming with the hopeful anticipation of seeing the angel again.

This time as he stepped inside of the glittering ballroom he barely saw any of the rich decorations or fine costumes, his eyes too busy scanning for a familiar bright head of curls. A swift look through the ballroom was unfruitful, so he made his way out to the garden where they had met. But there was no sight of the man there either, and after completing a circuit of the garden Crowley scuffed his shoe disappointedly against the gravel path. He had assumed that the man would attend the second ball but now had to face the reality that he might not be here. He sighed. Here he was, his infernal optimism setting him up for disappointment yet again. Well, he had searched the ballroom rather quickly; he could try there one more time, and if there was still no sign of the Alpha perhaps he could console himself by finding some more of that delicious champagne.

He made his way inside and kept to the side of the room as he searched, feeling a little self conscious at the sidelong looks he was gathering. His black ensemble stood out among the pale colored sea of aristocracy like a crow in a wheat field and he fretted at the attention, worried that he could be exposed at any moment like the fraud he was. He continued moving along the edge of the dancing, so busy scanning the room for his heart’s desire that he almost collided with someone walking in the opposite direction. He caught himself just in time and looked up to see his stepmother standing right in front of him, green eyes regarding him from behind her jaguar mask. Panic shot through him, sure she would recognize him, but she merely inclined her head, politely saying, “My lord.”

 _Act like an Alpha! Act like an Alpha!_ He forced his trembling legs to keep moving and he nodded to her in what he hoped was a haughty fashion, looking aside quickly and keeping his mouth shut as he walked past. Grateful to find a break in the wall that opened into a long hallway he quickly ducked down it, willing his hammering heart to settle down. 

The brush with the danger of being exposed finally dimmed his overeager pull to find the Alpha that thrummed under his skin like the swirling eddy of a leaf swiftly heading towards the plunge over a waterfall. Even if he found the Alpha what could he possibly expect to happen? He didn’t think he had mistaken the intimacy that had spread like pervasive vines between them as being one sided, but it was likely in their time apart the memory of that attraction had faded for the other man. It was a foolish fantasy to think that the Alpha had felt even a fraction of the magnetic pull Crowley had felt, let alone given him more than a passing regard over the past two weeks. 

It was just as likely that if Crowley did find him the most the Alpha would do would be to engage him in a short polite conversation and then move on, leaving him once again, alone. There was an ember of an ache following that thought, deep within the carefully protected part of himself that he didn’t want to examine too closely, for worry that the ache would bloom into a blaze that would consume him. 

The hallway he wandered down wasn’t as brightly lit as the ballroom and he felt more comfortable in it’s shadows as he worked up the courage to go back to the ballroom. He took his time looking at the long rows of paintings, all of long dead queens and kings, formally posed and looking out solemnly from the frames as if happiness was something forbidden to royals. When he came near the end of the hall he could see more paintings farther down but his way was barred by two guards, who were obviously stationed there to prevent guests from wandering further. He was struck by what a boring job that must be, to stand in an empty hall all night, and wondered what they thought of to keep themselves from going mad with boredom. He nodded to them politely and received a small incline of their heads in return. 

His nerves more settled, he turned around to head back to the ballroom and startled to unexpectedly come face to face with familiar eyes that he could see now were a blue the color of the sea, a color so deep that he felt as if he could fall forever into their depths. 

For a moment he couldn’t breathe, seeing the man who had haunted every waking and many sleeping moments of his life for the past two weeks actually standing in front of him as if he was an apparition that sprung to life from Crowley’s wistful imagination. He looked every bit as glorious as Crowley remembered, dressed all in white once again, this time wearing a half mask covered with short white fur and a small black nose shining at the center. A matching white fur waistcoat peeked under his frock coat, black buttons gleaming in contrast. 

Crowley found himself reaching out as if in a dream to run the tips of his fingers over the fur on the mask. “Since I got it wrong last time, angel, would you like to enlighten me as to what your costume is tonight?”

The man smiled under his hand, sending a delightful warmth chasing down from his fingers into his chest, curling to settle in a tenuous foothold. “You should have seen the conniptions my tailor had when I told him to make this for me at the last minute. They had a lion’s head picked out for me if you can believe it, I think to try to show how strong and fierce I am.” 

He chuckled at the apparent absurdity of anyone thinking he could be fierce. “I was seriously worried about my tailor’s heart, the way he kept clutching at his chest when I was quite insistent that he make me a mouse mask.”

Crowley cocked his head, his hand still somehow softly caressing the short fur. “And why a mouse?”

The man cleared his throat, looking away and then back again as if he was nervous. He shifted his feet and Crowley’s hand fell back to his side. “Well, I, erm, kept thinking about our conversation about serpents being so good at ensnaring mice and, well… uh, your costume...” he waved his hand at Crowley.

Crowley was fascinated to see the Alpha blushing and his own face split into a wide grin he couldn’t hold back at the impossible realization that not only had the man been thinking of him, it was so much so that he had even changed his costume because of a conversation they had. The realization made some part of him stand taller, as if shedding a skin that had kept him slightly hunched for years. 

“Well, maybe you can tell him that rodents can be fiercely territorial and that’s a reflection of your manly warrior attributes.”

The man’s chuckle was cut short by the sounds of voices coming down the hall towards them. He glanced behind them, then waved his hand at the guards, who to Crowley’s surprise smartly stepped to the side. The man looked back at Crowley with what seemed like a cautiously hopeful look in his eyes. 

“I confess that I was very much hoping to see you again tonight. Would you, ah, care to join me in the library for a glass of wine?”

“I would love to,” Crowley breathed, thrilled at the invitation.

The bright smile the man gave him was like a punch to his gut as he followed him, feeling as though he would follow the Alpha like a lemming right off of a cliff if that’s where he led. But thankfully instead of a cliff he led them to a large solid door that he opened and ushered Crowley inside. As they entered the room the man pulled on a rope next the door and as if by magic a servant shortly appeared. The man murmured into her ear and she curtsied and briskly lit the lights in the room and then stepped out. 

The Alpha walked over to Crowley who was looking around the room curiously. He had never seen so many books in one place in his life, which although admittedly didn’t include seeing that many libraries, even he could see this place was really quite impressive. The room was huge, with a tall ceiling and every wall had a bookshelf completely full of books, with long sliding ladders to reach the tallest shelves, and a balcony along one side with even more rows of bookshelves below and above it. He wandered over to a shelf and pulled out a book at random and opened it. It turned out to be about birds, complete with anatomical drawings and lengthy descriptions of their habits. He idly turned the pages, curious to see if he could find a description of a bird with long black feathers that would explain where the feather he had found came from. 

The door opened again and two servants came in, one bearing a tray of food, the other carrying a wine bottle and goblets that they set on a short table by the couches and chairs around the large unlit fireplace. 

“Shall I pour your Hi—“

The man hastily cut her off, “No, no, Anna, that’s quite all right. I can take care of it from here.”

She curtsied and they left, closing the door behind them. He poured the dark red wine into the goblets, bringing one to Crowley. The man gestured at the tray which had an assortment of food on it. 

“My apologies for taking you away from the buffet table, please help yourself should you be hungry.”

Touched by his thoughtfulness, Crowley took a drink and closed his eyes briefly in appreciation. He had some wine at the Pulcifer’s before and had taken an instant liking to the beverage, and this delightful drink rolled like liquid velvet against his tongue. He opened his eyes to look delightedly at the man. 

“This is delicious!” he blurted out, then bit his lip at how unsophisticated he sounded. 

But the Alpha merely gave him a satisfied smile as if happy to have provided something that pleased Crowley. The Alpha then cocked his head, looking at him with a focused gaze that almost felt physical, like it could be a touch that sizzled against his skin. 

“Goodness, I knew your hair was red but seeing it in brighter light… it’s such an unusual color.”

Crowley managed to take a slightly ragged breath in an effort to calm down the heat that flashed through him by the Alpha just _looking_ at him and ran his hand over his hair self consciously. “Oh, yes, I know it’s not very fashionable; I actually often darken it—”

“Oh please, heavens no. What a _dreadful_ shame it would be to cover up that gorgeous color!” the man breathed out earnestly. He then blinked, and Crowley watched in fascination as a blush bloomed again on the Alpha’s cheeks as he glanced away, ducking his head to take a drink of his wine. Was it possible that the Alpha felt some of the same attraction pulling at him that he himself was feeling so intensely that he felt as if he might drown from it?

“Ah, do you read much?” The man asked, in an apparent effort to change the subject. 

Crowley looked down at the book in his hands. “Erm, not really, I don’t have the time as I’m kept pretty busy. I like learning new things though, and books are useful for that. I was just thinking of a long black feather I found once— it’s huge—” he said, holding up his hands to demonstrate “and I was wondering if there might be a description of a bird that it could have come from in this book.”

“Oh, let’s have a look, I’m sure there must be something useful here.” Excitement colored the Alpha’s voice as he eagerly moved closer, bending over the book to look at it. 

As they looked at the book together, Crowley was acutely aware of the man so close to his side, feeling a tingling heat bloom against his skin when their arms brushed as pages were turned. The man deemed that particular book on birds to be too extensive, so he found another book that described the flora and fauna local to this region, which led them to a book on maps, which somehow took them to looking for books on weather, then greenhouses. The man seemed positively giddy as he brought Crowley to explore different sections of the library, a happiness radiating out from him that made Crowley feel as if he wanted to roll around in that bright feeling like a dog wiggling on it’s back in sun warmed dirt until it saturated its fur. 

Eventually the Alpha surveyed the large pile of books that they had collected on the table and blinked in chagrin. 

“Oh my. After all that I don’t think that we ever answered the question of where your feather came from.”

He glanced at Crowley, then his eyes slid away as a stiffness crept over his shoulders. 

“I do apologize if I have been terribly boring company. I enjoy research and reading quite a lot and sometimes forget others do not share my… passion.” He colored slightly, his eyes still fixed on the books. “Of course I do need to read some for my duties, but I confess I spend much of my limited free time reading. I’ve been chided many times for how I can get quite lost in the written word.”

Crowley was struck by two realizations. One, that the Alpha seemed to have been taught that reading for pleasure was bad somehow, and two, that he wanted nothing more than to soothe that furrowed brow, to ease the troubled self-deprecation that had taken ahold of the man and bring back the bright joy he had watched that had sparked an answering joy within himself.

He stepped closer and dared to slide his hand over one of the Alpha’s that was holding a book. “There’s nothing wrong with that, angel, if reading is something you enjoy.”

The Alpha looked down at their hands. “Yes, well, I have doubts as to if my spouse will be so understanding.” he murmured

Crowley jerked his hand away in surprise, a chill sweeping into him. “You’re married?” he blurted out in dismay.

The man looked up at him, startled. “Oh, goodness no. Not yet anyway. I’m under a great deal of pressure, however, to join the ranks of matrimony with the obligatory progeny.” 

Crowley turned away to take a drink of his wine to hide his flood of relief. For a moment he thought that the Alpha was a married man who was flirting with him as a prelude to an affair. Even though he knew the man was so far out of his reach he may as well live in a country house on the moon, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what might have happened in the garden if he hadn’t gotten so nervous. He rather suspected that much more of that intoxicating kissing would push him under in eager supplication but the idea of doing that with a married man was distasteful to him.

After a moment to settle himself, Crowley asked, “You don’t want to have a family?”

There was a silence, and he snuck a glance back to look at the eyes behind the mouse mask that blinked at him owlishly in a manner more reminiscent of his costume from the previous ball.

“I… no one’s ever put it quite that way before.”

Crowley tilted his head. “In what way?”

“A… family. That has a very different connotation than securing a spouse to produce heirs,” the Alpha said slowly. There was something uncertain hovering at the edges of his voice as he continued pensively, “It’s been impressed upon me from an early age of what my duties are in this regard, but I confess that I’ve never felt the personal desire to get married. I find the few children I’ve been around utterly baffling and can’t imagine how in Heaven’s sake I’m supposed to interact with them. I suppose that’s what nannies are for.”

Crowley thought of Anathema and Newton with Owen. They had a nanny to help them out, but they were very much involved in the raising of their son, which he didn’t think was what the man meant. His own family was horrible, but he could see by watching the Pulcifier’s that loving families did exist. Even if that was unlikely to be in his own future, sometimes as he watched the Pulcifer’s the hopeless wish to someday have a family like that snuck up from the depths of his heart and squeezed him like a vise. But maybe not everyone had that example to learn from. 

“Were you not around the kind of family you’d like to have while you were growing up?”

Again, his question seemed to take the man aback. “I—” 

He stopped, looking down blankly at the book in his hands, then turned to the shelf to put it away before answering. “I’m not entirely sure how to answer that. My parents and I were not close when I was a child and that hasn’t changed. They were very busy and my interactions with them tended to be rather— formal. My father died when I was still young and the strongest emotion I felt when I was told the news was guilt that I didn’t feel upset enough to cry. I’ve sometimes wondered what it would have been like to have siblings to play with, fight with, do all of the typical things that brothers and sisters do, but my parents only managed to produce one child. As I am the only heir, hence the pressure to marry to ensure the line.” His gaze never left the bookshelf in front of him.

Crowley felt a kindred sympathy. He walked over and tentatively placed his hand on the man’s arm. “It sounds lonely.”

The man tilted his head to look back at him. “Oh, there is no need to feel sorry for me. I am quite aware that I had every advantage growing up. The best tutors, purebred horses, the latest fashion in clothes, fine food, noble companionship; all manner of books; just about every wish granted to my satisfaction.”

“Except love?” Crowley asked wistfully. It still sounded sad to him. Although he also had a family that didn’t love him, he knew that the Pulcifiers did and that carried him through his darkest times. His heart ached for the Alpha standing before him that didn’t seem to have had that. 

The man caught his breath and turned to face Crowley fully. His blue eyes seemed huge behind the mask as he searched Crowley’s face hungrily as if he could devour him by his gaze alone. “Who are you, to be the embodiment of temptation that calls to me like a siren so that I might crash upon the rocks of my doom?” his voice hushed and deep with intent.

Crowley couldn’t answer that, looking down in apprehension. He knew that as soon as he revealed the deception of who he was the magic would be over and he selfishly couldn’t bring himself to do that as much as it twisted in his gut to appear as a lie to the man who was staring at him as if he hung the stars. Hating himself for it, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from taking a step closer and taking the Alpha’s hand, brushing his thumb across his knuckles. The man’s hand tightened in his, turning the loose grasp into something more proprietary, as if somehow sending a signal that shot up Crowley’s arm and into the core of him that he belonged to the figure that radiated authority standing before him. And he was finding that he didn’t mind it— not, that wasn’t right— he was realizing that he was starting to _crave_ it, this sensation of responding to the pull of this Alpha man.

As he looked down he felt gentle fingers on his chin, tugging him up. He looked up into eyes that had darkened to the blue of the sea before a storm, and a sizzling charge rose in the air between them and arced down in his chest, making him shiver minutely. The man slowly closed the distance between them, his eyes lowering, moving closer and closer until stopping just short of meeting his lips. Crowley waited in breathless anticipation but the man didn’t move and he finally realized that the Alpha was waiting for him to close the distance, likely because Crowley had panicked like a startled rabbit the last time they had kissed. 

Crowley closed the distance with the barest exhale of surrender, and the Alpha met his mouth softly, so impossibly tenderly that Crowley felt as if he might fall apart from the overwhelming feeling of being cherished. Their mouths slotted together in a slow glide of movement, the feeling very different than their time in the garden; a leisurely exploration with a new undercurrent of something more that pulled at something deep within him. A gentle press of lips, a gradual opening of their mouths, the pleased smile Crowley felt against his mouth when he felt bold enough to tentatively slide his tongue against the seam of the Alpha’s lips, then the languid tangle of their tongues sliding together felt as if it must be a dream as it was impossible this was reality. 

The kissing went on unhurriedly, their hands finding their way to hips, to backs, to the napes of necks, but didn’t spark into passion. Well, not too much passion anyway, of course his cock did swell some against the confines of his breeches, making its interest in the proceedings known. And he couldn’t blame it really, despite all of the tenderness, how could he not feel some amount of arousal at the soft lips moving against his own, at the slight press of that solid body even now leaning into him just a little more as if pulled towards him?

Intermittently one of them would wander their lips over to a jawline, a cheek, an earlobe but invariably before long the other would turn their head, questing to join their lips together again as if their natural state of being was to be connected in some way. He felt as if he could kiss the Alpha forever, as if they already had been kissing forever, with the world rising and falling around them without notice. 

A grumble of his stomach brought him more into awareness of his surroundings as he was reminded that he hadn’t eaten since early in the afternoon. But stopping the kissing for something as mundane as eating seemed an unfathomable concept. He would waste away a happy man in exchange for the intoxicating feeling of being encircled in the Alpha’s arms.

But when his stomach grumbled again, louder this time, the man broke off with a chuckle. “Apparently I’m being a poor host and should be feeding you.”

Crowley tried to kiss him again.”M’fine, angel.”

The man returned his kiss far too briefly, then to Crowley’s chagrin pulled back and with a last tender caress of Crowley’s cheek, turned to walk over to the tray of food. 

“Come now, let me take care of you. So, it appears we have soda bread, cheese, ham, mmm, smoked venison, roasted chicken, boiled eggs, olives… what strikes your fancy?”

Feeling absurdly delighted about what the Alpha said about taking care of him made Crowley feel unusually bold. “Oh, I’d say curly blondes with blue eyes that look like an angel,” he said with a roguish grin, still heady on the feeling of having just been so thoroughly kissed he was giddy.

The man smiled, a mere twitch at the corner of his lips as though he tried to fight it, and cast Crowley a heated look from under pale eyelashes. 

Still smiling, Crowley looked over at the tray, relieved to see that there wasn’t a snail in sight. “I’m not too picky, anything there will do.”

The man placed an assortment of food on a plate and walked over to the couch in front of the dark fireplace, sitting down. He looked up at Crowley and raised his eyebrow over the edge of his mask expectantly, hefting the plate of food meaningfully. 

“Come here and eat something,” he ordered with a pointed gaze. 

And didn’t that edge of a command send an electric shiver down Crowley’s spine, arcing downward in pinprick spikes to fall into the gaping hole of need that he was only barely able to recognize was opening up deep inside of him. He willingly obeyed; to do otherwise seemed unthinkable. He sat down next to the man and picked up a piece of the venison and bread and bit into it. The savory flavor with a hint of smoke was pleasing and he chased it with a piece of cheese, the tart sharpness a perfect counterfoil. He snuck a glance to the Alpha to see that he was watching Crowley, and after seeing that he was eating the man gave a self satisfied nod, and began eating himself. 

Dragging his gaze away so he wouldn’t stare and the adoration he was increasingly feeling shine like a beacon from his eyes, turning a pleasant interlude for the Alpha into an awkward one, Crowley focused on eating. They sat in companionable silence for a short time while they ate, then Crowley gestured to the fireplace.

“Do you think anyone would mind if I built a fire?”

The man looked startled. “Oh, we can certainly have a fire but I can call back the servants to do that.”

Crowley shook his head. “No sense in bothering them for something I can do myself.” And with that he stuffed the food he was holding into his mouth and made quick work of stacking the kindling that was by the side of the fireplace, striking a match and blowing on the flames until he was satisfied it had caught then carefully setting some slender logs on top of the little blaze. 

While he was working on the fire the man got up to retrieve the goblets of wine and returned to the couch, handing one to Crowley as he returned and sat on the seat, admiring the flicker of the rising flames. 

“You’re very good at that,” the man observed. “I’m embarrassed to say that I wouldn’t know the first thing about building a fire. I would be quite hopeless if I was stranded in the forest by myself, asking the deer if it would have the good manners to turn itself into a nice slice of roasted venison.”

Crowley chuckled, again feeling a warmth spread within him that basked in the Alpha’s approval. “I guess you’ll just need to keep me close to you then,” he said carelessly.

“I just might at that,” came a low murmur next to him, with another of those flickering glances that caught his and seemed to carry a hidden message from beneath pale lashes. 

For one long wild moment while their gazes were locked, Crowley almost blurted out the truth of everything, all of his deceptions and half truths and it was only the internal floundering of how he could possibly put the words together that saved him from making such a monumental mistake. _Ah, so, I was wondering, how do you feel about Omegas? If you don’t have a low opinion of them then I have a confession to make... Um, funny thing, I’m actually a servant and should be genuflecting before you rather than kissing you..._

The enticing floral sunshine scent grew stronger, and Crowley couldn’t resist leaning closer and inhaling deeply, his eyes falling half shut as the Alpha’s scent called to him. The man’s hand rose to his cheek as he leaned forward but then just as his face was close enough that Crowley could feel the caress of the Alpha’s breath across his face the other man exhaled sharply and sat back while Crowley slowly blinked at him in confusion at the abrupt change.

“I very much want to kiss you again my dear, if that’s something that you also want. But—” 

The Alpha hesitated, then seemed to steel himself, turning to face Crowley. “It’s past time any deception between us ended. I regret my selfishness thus far, and would love nothing more than for us to reveal all of ourselves to each other. Shall we remove our masks?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ah, our favorite boys meet again! And they are soooooo smitten!_


	7. The Second Ball Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Thank you** to all of you lovely readers that have taken the time to leave me an encouraging comment; so very much appreciated and I adore you all. _

Crowley hesitated as a flare of panic slivered through him at the Alpha’s suggestion they remove their masks. But he quickly realized that he was being foolish; of course there was no way the Alpha would recognize him; they had never met before the balls. A sharp screeching hunger swiftly replaced the panic to see the full face of the man before him. _Let me see you, let me kiss you, let me pretend that tonight will last forever._ He eagerly nodded and pulled off his own mask, tucking it into his coat. The man blinked as if surprised at how readily Crowley complied and then he stilled, his eyes widening as his gaze roved over Crowley’s bare face for the first time. 

“Oh. My darling. Please believe me when I tell you that it would not have mattered to me what you looked like, but heavens. You are even more handsome than I could have imagined.” His voice came out a little rough and unsteady, an echo of something desperate lingering at the edges. His bright eyes moved on Crowley’s face with a focused gaze that was undeniably admiring. And didn’t that just make Crowley preen under the man’s stormy eyes, atrociously elated that the Alpha found his appearance pleasing, as it was a gift that he could present to him for his enjoyment alone. 

He basked under that appreciative gaze until the need to finally see the entirety of the man’s face became too much to endure. Crowley reached out slowly to place his hands on the sides of the mouse mask. 

“May I?” he whispered hopefully. 

For some reason the man’s eyes looked apprehensive as he nodded, with a twinge of sadness that made Crowley wonder if he was scarred underneath the mask. It wouldn’t matter to him, he thought, feeling already half in love with the idea of kissing every line of the Alpha’s scar to make him understand how beautiful he was in Crowley’s eyes. But as he lifted the mask he saw that the skin underneath was smooth and unblemished, alabaster rounded cheeks tinged with pink under pale brows and blue eyes that looked back at him steadily. He was beautiful to Crowley’s eyes, but also looked oddly familiar, as if he was someone Crowley had known his whole life, which was impossible as he was sure he would remember someone who looked as if he could be the actual angel that Crowley had unwittingly nicknamed him as.

As he gazed at the alluring face looking back at him, committing to memory every impossibly attractive curve and angle, the feeling of somehow knowing the Alpha persisted. Crowley tried to chase down the odd feeling into a concrete memory of where they might have met— had the Alpha visited his stepfamily at the house? Had he seen him in town?, but came up blank. 

He tilted his head as he regarded the man thoughtfully, asking “You look so familiar, have we met before?”

The man shook his head and said with surety, an odd note to his voice, “No. We never met before two weeks ago.”

Hmm. It was obvious by his rich clothes, obvious education and precise speech the man was some kind of noble. And seeing the ease with which the Alpha navigated through the castle as well as the guards and servants recognizing him meant that he must be a regular at the palace, so he likely had a high status, a Count or maybe even a Duke. His stepmother did entertain other members of the aristocracy regularly at the house and took particular satisfaction at her guests being high ranking nobles, so he must have seen the man there and was just not remembering it. And of course no noble would take notice of Crowley as a servant. 

No matter. He didn’t want to think about how the man was so far above him that he should be unreachable, untouchable because he wanted nothing more than to _reach_ , to _touch_ , to sink into this shimmering bubble enclosing the two of them together away from the ugly realities of the world. He shrugged away the odd feeling of familiarity and slid his hand slowly over towards the Alpha’s, his fingers barely touching when the man glanced down and readily curled his hand into Crowley’s. The touch had a shade of firmness to it, the shadow of an anchor moored deep into the silty sea that was dragging him down with it, helplessly drowning in the pull towards the Alpha. 

Those sea storm eyes raised back up again and there was a prolonged stretch of taffy sticky silence as they took in the sight of each other’s faces. He drank in the visage of the Alpha, his eyes traveling along the curves of his face, the angle of his jaw, attractively masculine but with an edge of softness to his features that made him want to nuzzle his own face along the other man’s jaw like a cat. The Alpha looked back at him just as earnestly, although he had a tinge of surprise to his expression, as well as a hesitation that Crowley wondered at. 

Did he not want to be cloistered away in the library with Crowley any longer but was too polite to say so? Although he himself had absolutely no desire to be anywhere but in this room the thought occurred to him that he was keeping the Alpha from the festivities. A prickle of uneasiness came back to him with cat-quick claws.

“Ah, am I uh, keeping you from the ball? I don’t want you to miss out on it on my account if you want to dance or something.”

“Mmm. No, I’m perfectly happy here,” the Alpha murmured. Then those blue eyes widened in alarm. “Unless you wish to go? Oh, I’m being a selfish host, keeping you here if you’d rather be out there enjoying yourself, if you’d rather be dancing—”

Crowley hastened to reassure him, shaking his head definitively. “No, no— I love dancing, but I—” _the only place I want to be in this world is here with you_. No, he couldn’t say that. “M’ good, really. It’s... nice here,” he finished inadequately.

The man smiled in a manner that sent a flutter in Crowley’s ribcage. The Alpha still seemed uneasy though as he looked away at the fire and said “I should tell you…” he trailed off.

“Tell me what?” Crowley prompted, curious.

“Ah, erm… that I’m...” A shadow flitted over his face and was gone so quickly that Crowley wondered if he imagined it. “That... the thought of dancing with you sounds lovely. I wish we could indulge but I never learned how to follow in dance.”

“Oh, I know how to follow,” Crowley said without thinking, then wished he had bitten off his tongue before he spoke as the man turned his head to look at him in surprise. 

“Really?”

Crowley looked away and kept his eyes fixed on the fire as he frantically tried to think of how to salvage his mistake, cursing himself for an idiot. Of course Alpha’s rarely took the follow’s role in dance. “Ah, I have a dear friend who’s an Alpha who loves to dance. Her husband doesn’t though— he’s absolutely hopeless at it— and she taught me so we could dance together at her house.” There. He had even managed to not to say anything that wasn’t the truth. 

“You certainly are a man of many talents. I confess that it makes me wonder what other surprises I can discover about you.”

That comment made Crowley shift uncomfortably, aware the Alpha certainly wouldn’t enjoy finding out about the secrets he was keeping from him. 

The man seemed to sense his unease and changed the subject. “You, ah, spoke of family. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Uh, no, not really. I have step siblings but we’re… not close.” That was the most polite way he could think of putting it. 

He gazed at the dancing of the licks of flame over the wood, taking another sip of that delicious wine. “Those friends I mentioned have a little boy that I think of as a little brother.” A smile curved the edges of his lips as he thought of Owen. “He’s only three and thinks he’s going to grow up to be a pirate fighter. Or be a pirate. Actually, he seems to think he can be both, and who am I to tell him otherwise?”

“He sounds charming.”

Crowley chucked. “He often is, but he can also be a little hellion when he doesn’t get his way. The volume at which he can screech no at the top of his lungs is really quite impressive. But as his mother’s an Alpha he really had no chance in a battle of wills with her.” For all that it annoyed Owen’s parents when he threw one of his rare tantrums, Crowley was secretly proud, hoping it was an indication that Owen’s Omega nature wouldn’t overpower his ability to stand up for himself when he was older.

“Mmm. She’s strict with him?”

Crowley shook his head. “Oh, no, not strict exactly. More firm, I’d say. I don’t know how she manages to not lose her temper but she doesn’t give in. Sometimes she can redirect him, sometimes she just has to wait while he gets the need to yell out of his system.” He trailed off, watching the flickering of the flames. 

“We all need to yell sometimes,” he murmured absently.

The voice beside him sounded closer. “What do you need to yell about?”

Crowley stilled. The conversation was veering towards dangerous waters. He tried to think of how to respond without giving away too much. “I… things that are out of my control… things that are unfair— and not the unfairness of not having things you might want, but the unfairness of those being denied basic decency, caring… love.”

A shoulder lightly leaned into him. “Do you have love?”

“Yes,” he said unhesitatingly, thinking of the Pulcifer’s. 

“But I have so much more to give,” he said wistfully, leaning back into the shoulder against his. He then blinked and pulled away, feeling his face heat. That wasn’t at all something he imagined the strong confident Alpha that he was pretending to be would say. 

“Ugh. That sounded— I mean— maybe I’ve had too much wine.” He set down his barely touched goblet.

The Alpha’s hand curled around his tightened slightly. “It’s quite all right dear boy. I think I understand perfectly.”

Crowley risked a glance to the man who was looking at him, his eyes bright as the flickering firelight highlighted a shade of conflicted longing that Crowley felt certain had to be shining like a beacon from his own eyes looking back. He wanted to kiss away that shadow and breathe in that sunshine scent until it chased the own shadows from his mind, filling him with brightness. 

“I erm, do, you know, very much,” he said shyly, unused to being direct about expressing his wishes.

The Alpha furrowed his brow in puzzlement. 

“Want to kiss you again,” Crowley clarified, responding to what the Alpha had told him just before suggesting that they remove their masks. He was somewhat amazed at his own daring. He had hardly touched his wine but he felt drunk on the moment, of finally seeing all of the man’s face, who although was still hauntingly familiar, was even more alluring without his mask as he was with. 

The Alpha’s mouth parted slightly as his gaze dropped down to fix on Crowley’s mouth. A spike in that intoxicating sunshiny floral scent entered Crowley’s nose and seemed to sink straight into a part of him that felt as if it had been half asleep until this moment; something that stretched out and sank its claws into him viscerally. A wild impulse to drop to his knees before the Alpha and rub his face like a cat against the broad thigh encased in white breeches while a firm hand stroked through his hair crashed through him and he caught his breath at the urge, his arms twitching as he barely managed to keep himself from throwing himself to the floor. 

He tried to channel the urge into something, anything else and the desperate _need_ only grew stronger until he couldn’t stand to be parted from the Alpha a second longer than he had to. He surged forward, pressing their lips together hard. 

The man briefly stilled in surprise, then made a noise deep in his throat and quickly responded, kissing back fervently. This time as the kissing progressed, their bare faces finally against each other, a rising heat swept Crowley away, the intensity of which he had never felt before in any of the fumbling encounters of his youth. Licking flames of desire swept down his skin, alighting him with a quivering need for _more_. His hands clutched at the other man’s arms, his shoulders, his back, fingers scrabbling at the smooth satin fabric, pulling him forward, needing more contact, more of that solid body against his own. The Alpha leaned into him and Crowley made a small whimpering noise as he felt himself pushed down with strong arms until he was lying on the couch, the man shifting forward to lie on top of him, the Alpha’s welcome weight pressing him down into the cushions. The Alpha held onto him firmly, pinned him into place, his tongue licking into Crowley’s mouth with an increasing possessiveness that was only further driving his own need. 

Breathing heavily, the man pulled back and looked down at him with half lidded eyes darkened with a fiercely possessive look that made Crowley’s inner Omega yowl in satisfaction before bending down again and vigorously mouthing a line down his jaw to just under his ear. Crowley shuddered in helpless pleasure as he felt the Alpha inhale his scent deeply against his neck, and then nip there as one hand slid behind Crowley’s neck, the other sliding behind his arse as he grasped both firmly as he rolled his groin forward. The delicious pressure of the man’s full erection against his own elicited a gasping moan from Crowley as he pushed up into him instinctively. 

As a pooling heat quickly rose in his groin, a riot of emotions— exhilaration, desire, need, pleasure, happiness— tangled with the flavor of fear like brambles, the pinprick sharpness keeping him from fully relaxing into the moment. Not fear of the Alpha, never of the angel, but fear of the dangerous thoughts of _I’m yours_ , and _Take me_ , that the distant edges of his rational mind knew would end in his heartbreak. And he was so accustomed to doing anything he could to protect his soft underbelly that it was hard to let go of that safeguarding. 

And yet. Would he ever have an opportunity like this again? To have an evening of glorious passion with anyone, let alone someone he was so drawn to he felt as if he had been created to slot perfectly into the shape lying on top of him? He let his hands wander up and into the Alpha’s soft curls, absorbing the pleased noise the Alpha made against his neck. There was nowhere else he would rather be, nothing else he would rather be doing and with a flash of courage, let go of his fear. He spread his legs so that the Alpha could settle in between them and bent his knees for leverage as he pushed his hips forward into the man with intent who gave a deep groan of pleasure that was the sweetest music to his ears as the Alpha pushed back into him to chase friction. 

The rolling tides of their hips began increasing in pressure and speed, and Crowley had just started to tug at the Alpha’s frock coat with the hopefully clear signal to start removing clothes when the man rose up to his knees and pulled off his coat, throwing it to the floor impatiently and then reached down and hauled Crowley upright in a dizzying display of strength that made Crowley’s already quivering insides go even more liquid. He found himself turned around on his knees to face the back of the couch, his hands automatically reaching out to brace himself as the Alpha roughly pulled his frock coat down to his elbows and then pressed up against his back, one hand clamped onto his hip and the other reaching up to pull Crowley’s head to the side, exposing his neck. 

Crowley’s limbs trembled with the onslaught of need that had risen so swiftly and sharply within him that he was helpless against it, an agonizing eddying whirlpool of desire that was sucking all rational thought from his mind. He keened as the Alpha rutted hard against his backside while mouthing vigorously at his neck. He wanted to pull off his own clothes, feel their naked skin against each other but the Alpha had him in a firm hold that he couldn’t bring himself to break. He gripped the back of the couch harder, pushing back into the Alpha’s front, trying to get as much contact against his body as possible.

But then the Alpha abruptly stopped moving, breathing heavily, and Crowley could feel him shaking against his back, his hands still gripping him tightly. As the Alpha continued to not move, concern trickled through him. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered uneasily. 

To his surprise the man gave a low growl against his neck, which sent electric tremors down his spine and caused him to instinctively whimper and arch his neck back further, to bare more of himself for the Alpha. He felt the barest scrape of teeth against the patch of skin under his ear and a white hot pulse of something like a arching wave crashed into him, making him whine softly, ready to yield in any way his Apha wanted of him… he heard a muttered curse as the man abruptly released him, pulling back sharply and stood, swiftly stepping away from the couch and turning away. 

Crowley blinked dazedly, inwardly floundering at the abrupt change and feeling acutely bereft of the Alpha’s body as he twisted to look up at him. “D— did I do something wrong?”

The man barked out a short disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “No, my dear, you are utterly and completely perfect. It’s I that am behaving abominably. Regrettably it seems that I’m having some amount of difficulty controlling my desire for you.”

“What?” Crowley said, his mind sluggishly trying to work through the fog in his brain when all his body wanted was for the Alpha to put his hands on him again. 

The man turned back to him, the unmistakable heat in his eyes and prominent bulge in his breeches pinning Crowley in place as surely as if he was a mouse trapped under a cat’s paw. 

“Don’t play coy with me my dear, as an Alpha you know perfectly well what I’m struggling with. Being what you are, I rather doubt you would enjoy the end result of my losing control.” A trickle of sharpness tinged the edge of the man’s voice.

Crowley had no idea what he was talking about but the reminder that the man still thought he was an Alpha helped act like an icy breeze swept through him, chasing the fog from his brain with an abrupt suddenness. 

“Right, uh, sorry,” he muttered wretchedly, shrugging his coat back onto his shoulders and turning around to sit on the couch. He avoided the man’s eyes, embarrassed and his shoulders hunched with the irrational feeling that he somehow disappointed the Alpha. For some reason he felt slightly nauseous, the food he had recently eaten settling uneasily in his stomach.

He heard a sigh. “No need to apologize to me dear boy. It seems that it is I who owes you an apology once again. You know how hard it can be, with the instincts we have, but once again, I pushed too hard, too fast. This isn’t _like_ me, I just can’t seem to control—” the Alpha broke off in frustration.

There was silence. Crowley stared at the floral patterned rug. What was he doing? As much as he was helplessly, viceraly attracted to the highborn Alpha it’s not like anything could come of it past tonight. He had just about been ready to give himself to the man, to let himself be taken right here on the very couch he was still sitting on. And even though the passion between them had cooled somewhat, _oh_ he still wanted that, with a yearning intensity that rolled and seethed underneath his skin. He wanted with every fiber of his being to have his first sexual encounter with this man who called to him as a moth flit to a dangerous candle flame to its doom. But now that the passion had receded enough for him to think more clearly the knowledge that it would be based on his lies sat ill within him, making his stomach roll uneasily. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man step closer; shining white shoes appearing in his field of vision. “Please my dear, can you forgive me? I must confess that I enjoy your company a great deal. I don’t just want to— I was wondering if—” 

The man paused and Crowley dared to look up at him. The Alpha was twisting his hands together uneasily, looking down at him anxiously.

“Wondering what?”

The blue eyes looked down somewhat bashfully. “I was wondering if I might, well, just embrace you, if I may.”

Crowley slowly rose to his feet, standing hesitantly until the man opened his arms to him, then he couldn’t stop himself from swiftly stepping forward, wrapping his arms around his solid frame and turning his head in to take a deep lungful of that soothing sunshine floral scent. He felt a hand on his head, fingers running through the hair held back in a queue.

“Oh my dear,” The man said softly, a current of something deeply aching under his voice. “You are such an impossibility. What am I to do with you?”

 _Keep me with you forever._ Crowley thought wistfully, even as he knew it was impossible. Even if their social status didn’t make them worlds apart, the fact that Crowey had been essentially lying to him from the moment they met about his true identity was likely an unforgivable deception. 

Suddenly the door banged open. Crowley startled back, his heart hammering on the heels of thinking about his false identity, sure that somehow someone had discovered who he was and was here to take him away. The man merely turned calmly, regarding with an expression of irritation the tall broad shouldered dark haired Alpha dressed in the royal House colors who strode in. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere and of course here you are, shirking your duties as usual.” 

The man’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll be out there shortly Gabriel.”

Gabriel looked past him with narrowed violet eyes. “Who is this?”

“A dear friend. Run along now Gabriel, there simply has to be someone else at the palace far more worthy of your stalking time.”

Gabriel ignored him and stepped closer, his nostrils flaring. He glared at Crowley as if personally affronted by his scent and whipped his head back to the man. “What are you doing wasting your time with an Alpha man?” he demanded. 

The man bristled and snarled, “I’m not wasting my time, and it’s not for you to dictate who I choose to spend my time with.”

“It is when it’s the fate of the kingdom at stake!” Gabriel replied haughtily. “At first I thought you were making the mistake of courting an Omega man but this is far worse.”

The man scoffed and shot back with derision, “I would _hardly_ court an Omega; a clinging wallflower for a mate is utterly distasteful to me.”

Crowley’s breath left him as if he had been sucker punched, any deeply buried fantasy about revealing his true secondary gender ripped from him with a painful suddenness that made his Omega self howl in protest. He felt as if the ground had dropped out from under him and he was falling into a suffocating void that sucked away the warm feelings of being tenderly cared for that he had felt while in the Alpha’s arms.

Their angry words faded into the background as Crowley stood there numbly, wondering if they would even notice if he simply walked past them and out the door. He had taken a surreptitious step to do just that when he caught the last words that Gabriel said which caused him to stop dead in shock., his head whipping back to the arguing men.

“.... if you won’t take finding a spouse seriously your Highness, I’ll have to report this back to the Queen.”

Stunned, Crowley looked at the man incredulously. “Your… Highness?” he asked slowly. As the man— _Prince Aziraphale!_ his mind finally shouted at him, the words bouncing around with painful clarity in his mind, turned towards him, his eyes widened, and he opened his mouth as if to say something but Crowley cut him off.

“You— you’re _the Prince?!_ When exactly were you going to tell me that important little detail? Before or after you had your way with me?” Hurt that the Alpha— the _Prince_ — had purposefully kept his identity a secret from him made him speak crassly without thinking. That and feeling once again like a complete idiot. Of _course_ the reason that he looked so familiar is because Crowley had seen the prince’s image along with the Queen’s on paintings and prints countless times throughout his life. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He realized with a sharp pang that there had been a small part of him that had still nurtured the impossible fantasy of somehow being swept off of his feet by this man like a character in a fairytale, that he could have a happily ever after with him. He really was an idiot, the fantasy finally crumbling into the dust where it belonged. There was no such thing for the likes of him, most certainly not with the _prince_ , and it only made him hurt more to realize that he had managed to hope for anything otherwise. 

An expression of pained ache flitted across the prince’s face. He took a step forward, his hand held out beseechingly, which Crowley made no move to take. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you but you have no idea how lovely it was to talk to someone who didn't know who I was, to feel like I was wanted for me, not just my title. I thought you would recognize me when you removed my mask, and I should have told you right away when you didn’t. Please, forgive me.”

Gabriel looked at Crowley incredulously. “How could you not know who the prince was? Who are you?”

Prince Aziraphale looked at him expectantly as well. Crowley opened his mouth, then closed it again. How could he possibly tell him who he really was? Revealing his lies before the prince that he still had a yearning desire to please seemed an impossibility, especially after hearing his feelings about Omegas. 

_Gong_. His eyes darted over to look at the grandfather clock in the room, a chill lifting the hairs on his arms as he saw the two hands pointing straight to midnight. _Gong._

 _“Damn it,”_ he swore, at the time, at himself, at the prince, at the whole insane situation that would be more apt as a mummer’s farce than reality. _Gong._

He closed his eyes briefly against the sting in his eyes, then opened them to look at the prince, who was looking back at him with such an expression of tender hopefulness it painfully twisted the miasma of sorrow that welled within him. _Gong._ Two steps brought him close to the prince as he swiftly slid his hands to the sides of his face and briefly pressed their lips together. He then moved to his ear to whisper, “I truly do hope that you will find a family that brings you happiness.” _Gong._

He felt the prince grasp at him but he pulled away sharply and turned to walk briskly through the door, putting the mask back on over his face as he swiftly strode away, the fading sounds of the grandfather clock sounding like a death knell. He felt a small hollow victory in that he managed to keep the tears from sliding down his cheeks until he was riding Bentley away from the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Aziraphale's identity is finally revealed! Hmm, and Crowley's not exactly jumping for joy, now is he? And there's still the matter of other deceptions to be revealed..._


	8. Impossible Desires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Goodness, 109 of you are following my story! That's a record for me; I'm so happy that you like this oddball Cinderella story! A special thank you to those of you that have taking the time to leave a comment, I cannot say enough how much every comment thrills me and inspires me to write more._
> 
> _**Content warning:** brief physical abuse in the early part of this chapter._

Crowley moved through the next two weeks as if trudging through a miasma of suffocatingly heavy air, the denseness of unspoken emotions sitting heavily in his chest that threatened to choke him. He couldn’t bring himself to visit Anathema even though he knew she was undoubtedly waiting expectantly for him to tell her all about the last ball. What could he possibly say? How could he not break down under her knowing gaze as he tried to nonchalantly say _Oh, right, that man I told you about? Turns out he’s the prince, ha, ha, the joke’s on me, I’ve been a fool… such a fool… But it’s for the best, you see, because he doesn’t, um, favor Omegas. He said… he said…_ he couldn’t even finish that sentence in his mind; a soundless gasp pulling the breath from his body so that he couldn’t breathe, but that was all right, because then he could fade away into blackness and he wouldn’t _hurt_ so badly… but then of course his traitorous body automatically inhaled after a prolonged pause and kept breathing, paying no attention to the bleeding desires of his heart.

If he had only known from the beginning the Alpha was the prince he would have avoided him like the pustulant boils of the plague. A brief spark of anger at the prince flared up within him at the deception, but then faded quickly as he acknowledged he was hardly in a position to throw stones as he himself had been deceptive from the start.

He felt each passage of the days that moved closer and closer to the last ball as a heavy ponderous ticking of a metronome, the knowledge that it was the last opportunity to see the prince ever again looming large in every waking moment of his day. _Only two days left to go before I lose my chance to see him forever._ As he knelt working in the garden he curled his hands into the soil, gripping the crumbling dirt tightly as he swore to himself that he wasn’t going to go, that it would be further torture on his already wounded heart that felt as if was leaking fountains sorrow and regret. _But maybe I could just see him from afar, just once, just remember what it felt like to be wanted, desired in his arms…_

He squeezed his eyes shut, hard, then opened them and released the soil to continue the weeding; finding some satisfaction in savagely tearing plants up by their roots. No. He was _not_ going to go, this impossible longing needed to be torn out like the weeds as soon as possible and going to the last ball would just feed that coiling need in his gut that constantly pulled at him with the feeling that he somehow needed to seek out the Alpha. He scoffed at himself. As if he could march up to the palace gates in his rags and demand an audience with the prince. 

Out of all of the people he could have possibly met by random chance at the ball why by some cruel twist of fate did it have to be the prince? Why was he so helplessly drawn to the man that was so far out of his reach he may as well reside in the heavens? A prince that will exist on the edge of his awareness for the rest of his life when he invariably hears the gossip about who the prince chose to marry, his wedding, his children… his eyes stung as the lines of the onion stalks in the ground before him wavered through his watery eyes. 

The basket of herbs from the garden on his arm, he walked into the kitchen, lost in his ever consuming thoughts of the prince when a drawling voice jolted him into sudden awareness of his surroundings.

“Did you think I had forgotten you, Crawley?”

He jerked his head up to see Ligur eyeing him malevolently, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. A cold chill violently shot through him as he knew what that look meant. He tossed the basket onto the table and spun around to run back out of the kitchen but Ligur got to him first, a meaty hand grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him back hard, Crowley’s feet stumbling backwards. Just as he got his feet stable underneath him Ligur punched a fist hard into his soft unprotected stomach. Crowley folded like a tower of cards, falling to the floor and struggling to suck in a breath as the white hot pain bloomed outwards from his belly. Ligur landed a kick to his upper chest before Crowley managed to curl up, trying to protect his head and face while Ligur’s kicked him. Ligur landed one last kick across the side of his ribs, causing Crowley to cry out between his clenched teeth. 

Ligur leaned over him, curling a fist into Crowley’s hair and forcefully pulled Crowley’s head out of the shelter of his arms. “Anytime you need another lesson in knowing your place I’m more than happy to give it to you.” he snarled, then flung Crowley’s head back as he released it and stood. 

Crowley waited until he heard Ligur’s boot steps fade away before he raised a shaking hand up to the counter and painfully pulled himself to his feet. After hanging the herbs up to dry he shakily made his way up to his bedroom to collapse onto his bed. After a moment he reached under his mattress and pulled out the serpent mask, tracing the sinuous shape with his fingertips and torturously reliving the feel of Prince Aziraphale’s hand curled into his own, the sparkling look in his eyes when he was so animated in the library chasing down errant bits of knowledge, the look he gave Crowley that had liquified his insides, the press of lips against his skin... 

He flung the mask across the room, where it hit the wall and slid down to the floor, appearing as a black scorched mark against the wood grain that matched the burnt gaping wound with smoking edges within him filled with a soundless scream.

~*~O~*~  


The voice of Sister Mary buzzed like flies in Aziraphale’s ears. He tried halfheartedly to pay attention to her report of the charitable programs of the church but couldn’t manage to process more than snippets. She didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps didn’t care, that she had less than his full attention anyway as she flitted from topic to topic in a stream of consciousness chatter that would make a drunk five year old proud.  


He had really tried to not get involved further with the serpent masked man. Before the start of the second ball he had every intention to avoid the man entirely if he came to the ball, conveniently ignoring the drive behind his impulsive decision to change his costume to that of a mouse. And that firm resolution lasted as long as the day of the ball when he found himself constantly scanning the crowds for a certain auburn haired figure. And as he absently moved through the patterned dances he reasoned to himself that well, maybe he shouldn’t outright ignore the man, that would be unbecomingly rude, but perhaps incline his head in greeting with a polite smile and move on. But as he thought about it more he wouldn’t want the man to think poorly of him; he had already made a bad impression by pawing at him like a lech in the garden the first time they had met and it would be ill mannered of him to pretend he was completely ignoring the closeness they had shared, wouldn’t it? 

So perhaps a short interaction, a discussion of the weather perhaps, or the usual benign pleasantries of what a lovely ball it was. Oh, but shouldn’t he tell him his identity before he found out through someone else at the ball? He didn’t want the man to feel foolish about not recognizing him, that wouldn’t do. Perhaps he could pull him aside to a secluded place and reveal himself, and they could have a good natured laugh about it. And then their laughter would peter out, and those gorgeous golden eyes would catch his own, and they would lean closer, and closer…

Lost in his daydream, he nearly crashed into another couple when he didn’t separate from his dance partner in time to do the next sequence in the set dance of forming an arch with their hands for the other couple to step through. He made his apologies and forced himself to concentrate on the set dance to its completion, then made his way to the buffet table to look for something to drink. 

He pressed the cool glass to his forehead. This was getting out of hand. No, his first idea was best, he was going to avoid the man entirely. Anything else would be… detrimental to his future. With a sigh, he looked up and his heart leapt when he _finally_ saw that familiar flash of red hair above the tall black clad figure ducking out of the ballroom into the hallway. He quickly set down his glass and made his way through the crowd, anticipation thrumming through his veins. He was slowed down twice by someone trying to engage him in conversation but he impatiently exchanged the bare minimum response, some sort of excuse falling from his lips as he edged away from them, turning his back on them as soon as it was at least somewhat polite. 

As he started to hurry down the long hallway, his steps slowed as he finally had the man in his sight. He was almost dizzy with anticipation, but the cold voice of reason firmly inserted itself. What was he going to say? _Good evening sir. I’ve just come to say that we can never see each other again, despite the fact that you have haunted my dreams for the past two weeks_ …

He slowed to a stop behind the man. He was being ridiculous. It was likely that the man only thought of their time together as a pleasant interlude, nothing more, and had barely given it more than a passing thought in the past two weeks. He was going to turn around, they would exchange polite pleasantries, and each go their separate ways, he could already almost taste the bitter certainty on his tongue of how he would have to rely on his many years of practiced self control to fold in his emotions, hold back his own desires, his feelings, his needs. 

And then the man turned around, and he watched those golden eyes widen in surprise, and then soften in a manner that took his breath away away, as if they were saying, _oh, there you are_ , and the man had reached up and caressed his furred mask in a manner in which there was no mistaking the tenderness behind the action… and Aziraphale lost the battle raging within him. Going back to the ball was unthinkable; the only course of action he could possibly take was to invite the man somewhere private and pray that his offer was accepted. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about how easily they had conversed in the library, as if they had known each other for years rather than hours, and _oh gracious_ how utterly glorious it felt to have him so sweetly responsive under his lips, under his body on that couch… he had somehow forgotten that the body underneath his was another Alpha and his instincts had nearly overwhelmed him, dangerously causing him to come close to trying to aggressively take him right on that couch, a fiery comet of growling need hurtling within him to _claim_ him in every way that mattered, to rub his scent all over him, to thrust into him fiercely and mark him as his own… all things that would _not_ go over well with another Alpha. 

Of course sexual interactions between Alphas were fraught with risk. The instinctual desire to dominate can trigger aggression and rage if dominated by another without consent, so it had been inconsiderate and downright dangerous of him to forget the facts of the situation, to lose himself in the moment and push so hard. Poorly negotiated intimacies between Alphas could even end in fighting which was the last thing he would have wanted. 

But the man had not only hadn’t seemed to mind, he looked up at Aziraphale with such an expression of sweet longing tinged with confusion at his abrupt withdrawal it had Aziraphale one step away from throwing himself on top of him to finish what they had started. He had been shocked at the nearly overwhelming loss of control he had felt; he _prided_ himself on not letting his baser instincts control him and the fact that he had lost himself in his instincts so completely, behaving no better than a rutting beast still astonished and bewildered him.

He found himself too worked up to be able to choke out the words to negotiate a continuation of their intimacy and once he was able to calm down enough to think more clearly he realized that he found the idea of a quick interlude in the library… distasteful. He didn’t want to take advantage of the Alpha in a hurried, rutting manner, he wanted to taste every part of the man’s exposed skin as he slowly peeled off his clothes as unwrapping a precious gift, he wanted to press him down on his bed and savor every sound he could wring from that lovely arched throat, he wanted to hold him tightly in his arms as he watched him fall apart with pleasure while claiming him...

He cursed his cowardice in not telling the man his identity when their masks were removed, and he knew it had been shameful of him not to, but he had never felt anything like this pull between them, the desire to wrap himself around the Alpha and never let go, to howl to the skies _He’s mine!_. The intensity of it was intoxicating and he had been loathe to do anything to disrupt that.

He was relieved, actually, when the burden of revealing his identity was taken from him and the truth was finally out in the open. He had thought the Alpha would be surprised, perhaps a little embarrassed due to the realization he had been unknowingly kissing the prince, but Aziraphale’s relief had quickly turned to bewilderment by the unmistakable look of horror on the man’s face when he found out. And then inexplicably the horror had slid into a look of anguish as the clock began striking midnight. There was the all too brief press of lips against his, the whispered words in his ear that tore at his heart, and then he was gone. 

Aziraphale had automatically stepped forward to go after him, but then Gabriel had said in a voice that was oddly gentle, “Your Highness. Let him go.”

If Gabriel had tried to command him, shout at him, then he would have gone after the man without hesitation but the unusual tone in the advisor’s voice caused Aziraphale to pause and look at Gabriel, where he saw a look of… understanding. Gabriel knew. He knew, and he was reminding the prince of his duty, as was his job in service to the royal family. 

Aziraphale had closed his eyes against the crushing wave of Alpha desire to chase down and capture the object of his heart’s desire. He struggled, warring with himself, but then years of ruthlessly not allowing his instincts to rule him finally won the battle. Once he felt he had some semblance of control again he nodded heavily and without looking at Gabriel put his frock coat back on and left to go to the ball. 

Sister Mary showed no signs of winding down from her lengthy report, now she was going on about the midwifery services the Church provided to the poor, likely mostly to ensure the infant was baptized and the grateful parents reminded of their obligation to tithe to the Church.

So he nodded agreeably to her and continued his musings. Perhaps the fact that the man didn’t recognize him right away was a clue to his identity. Maybe he’s from one of the Houses that lived on the edges of the kingdom, the ones that didn’t come to Court all that often and so were less likely to recognize royalty on sight. Perhaps he could come up with an excuse to visit those Houses, maybe on the pretext of surveying the borders, and he could find out the man’s name, could see him again, could… what? Ask him to be the prince’s paramour after Aziraphale was officially trapped in a loveless marriage? That would be a terrible disservice to the man and would ruin his own opportunities to make a good match. No, of course he could never do that. 

But… what if the man would be willing? A paramour of royalty did enjoy a certain amount of social status, and Aziraphale would ensure that his every need was met... 

_Stop this idiotic fantasy at once_ , he told himself sharply. His hand curled into a fist under the table out of sight of Sister Mary, the nails digging half moon indentations into his palm. His feelings didn’t matter, have never mattered when it came to his responsibilities. He had to let go of this ridiculous crush. He wasn’t some starry eyed adolescent ruled by his hormones, he was a grown man in control of himself, and he knew that he had to do his duty to the kingdom.  


~*~O~*~

The day of the final ball Crowley rose early to finish his chores quickly so that he could be out of sight of his stepfamily getting ready for the ball as much as possible. He was slower than usual due to his bruised body but managed well enough. He listened to the excited voices getting ready from his bedroom, then when they left he slowly made his way downstairs. He knew Newton would be waiting for him with Bentley and he had to let him know that he wasn’t going to the ball. But when he opened the door to his house to leave he found both Anathema and Newton standing on his doorstep. 

Crowley looked down at the floor in misery. “You needn’t have bothered. I’m not going.”

Anathema’s dark eyes looked at him with concern. “What happened?”

Crowley shook his head, unable to speak. 

“May we come in? Please?”

He mutely held open the door and stepped aside. They walked in and Anathema held out her arms in invitation. After a beat, Crowley shuffled into them, arms folded across his chest, leaning against her, breathing in her comfortingly familiar Alpha scent of blackberries and juniper, and struggling not to cry. She stayed silent for a few moments, stroking his back and waiting until he was more relaxed against her. She then brought her hands down to grasp his upper arms and gently push him back, bending her head down to peer into his eyes. 

“Do you trust me?”

Crowley did trust her, with all of his heart. How could he not, with all of the kindnesses she had shown him over the years? She was waiting expectantly for a response, so he croaked out a “Yes.”

“Then I need you to try to trust me just a little more. I can feel with absolute certainty that you _must_ go to the ball tonight. I don’t know why, but it’s vitally important that you do,” she said earnestly, her dark eyes intent on his face.

Crowley thought about going, about seeing _him_. Tonight was the final ball, the one where the prince was supposed to announce who he had chosen to marry… he looked up at Anathema in anguish. He would do anything for her but— couldn’t she see that this would be the death of his very soul?

She bit her lip at the look on his face. “Oh you poor lad. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but please believe me that I would never ask you to do this if I wasn’t certain. You have two futures in front of you. In one you will never leave this horrible place. In another— well, I’m not sure what that future holds, only that it _has_ to be better than this. And I would do _anything_ to give you a chance at that future, even if it is to beg you to do something that is clearly hard for you. I would like you to do this for yourself, but if you can’t, oh Crowley, _please_ do it for me.”

Crowley swayed under the firm tone of her request, his inner Omega wanting to obey and please the Alpha. He knew that he could override the impulse to obey, but the part of him that did desperately want to go to the ball, to see Prince Aziraphale one last time, even from afar, reared up like a tidal wave, crashing down against his resolve not to go. He was positive that Anathema was wrong about his potential future; she didn’t know that the man he had told her about was the prince and what an utter impossibility that was. 

But this was the last opportunity he would likely ever have in his life to pretend he wasn’t an insignificant nobody and he had discovered that he liked that feeling. Certainly the prince never treated him like he was unworthy of his time, quite the opposite in fact, and he could hold his head high in the knowledge that for a brief shining moment in time he had held the favorable regard of that bright shining man— _a Prince!_ — who had held him tenderly in his arms. His stepmother had the ability to take away many things from him but she will never be able to take that memory away and he might have one last opportunity to create a few more bright memories tonight to take out later and turn around in his mind when all else seemed dark to sustain him throughout his bleak years ahead. 

Finally he lifted his head and nodded solemnly at Anathema who was waiting patiently, gazing at him steadily. She smiled at him in relief. “Let’s get you ready. I’ll help you wash your hair; where can Newton find your clothes?”

He gestured. “Go down the hall, my bedroom is at the very top of the stairs. They’re in a trunk under my bed.”

Newton nodded and headed upstairs while Anathema pushed him into the kitchen and had him bend over the sink as she began wetting his hair. Shortly he heard footsteps behind him as she was working the soap into his hair. 

“Not much bigger than a closet, with a single old threadbare blanket on the bed,” he heard Newton say with a tone of disgust.

Stung, he said defensively while blinking water out of his eyes, “The warm air rises up, so it stays fairly cozy. I sleep in my coat during the winter so it’s not too bad.”

“That wasn’t meant to be any offense against you lad,” Newton said in a gentler tone. “It’s criminal the way that woman treats you.”

Crowley had nothing he could say in reply to that so he stayed silent under Anathema’s administrations. After toweling him off and combing out his hair she stepped out of the room to let Newton help dress him. The experience of the lord acting as a valet to him made him vaguely uncomfortable but Newton didn’t seem to mind, although when Crowley pulled off his shirt he cursed under his breath at seeing his bruises. 

As Newton helped him dress he said, “We approached your stepmother about you once, many years ago. We made up a story about meeting you in town and said we were looking for a houseboy and asked if she would consider letting you come work for us in that service. But she became absolutely furious, to the point of rudeness, and we worried that if we pushed the matter that it would make things worse for you at home. But please know that we did try, and we would have welcomed you into our home not as a servant, but as our ward.”

Crowley stared at Newton, a lump forming in his throat. The thought that these wonderful people would have welcomed him into their home, that if it wasn’t for his stepmother he could have had a real _family_ … for a moment he hated her with a ferocity he rarely let himself feel and he let it sink into him, for once steeling him to do what he wanted to. 

By the time he finished dressing and joined Anathema in the entryway a sense of calm determination had settled over him. He swallowed the bitter contents in the vial and tied on his mask before going out to mount Bentley. Looking down at the pair to whom he owed so much he simply said, “Thank you,” around the lump in his throat, and then kicked Bentley into a trot, towards the prince calling to the very blood that thrummed through his veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Not much plot progression in this chapter, mostly angsty longings. If you've seen the Buffy musical episode, this chapter reminds me of Willow's only single sung line in 'Walk Through the Fire' of "This line is mostly filler." (which they did because the actress self acknowledges that she can't sing well.)_
> 
> _Anyway, I digress, and hope that you enjoyed this filler interlude before the final ball. Now off I go to geek out hard at the virtual Ineffable Con this weekend!!_


	9. The Final Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Content warning:** physical abuse at the very end of this chapter. Please skip that part if you are sensitive to that kind of scene. _
> 
> _Here we are at the final ball! Are you guys ready for this?_

After handing Bentley off to a footman Crowley looked up from the base of the long stairs leading up the palace entrance with a sense of foreboding that made it difficult to take the first step towards the ballroom. There had been a shift in his world that he could hardly process; did the prince feel it too? Did he also feel the temptation to give into feeling more deeply, to see the world with all of its bright edges and blurred lines more clearly? Did it make him _ache_ with the knowledge of an unreachable life just beyond the stretch of his fingertips?

Despite all of that perhaps he could find the strength to simply nod to the prince cordially in greeting and exchange a few meaningless pleasantries before moving away. That seemed improbable. Perhaps he could try to be content with seeing him from afar and not engaging at all. Perhaps he could find some measure of happiness in seeing the prince happy with his newly chosen betrothed… well, that might be pushing things a bit far, he thought wryly with a shake of his head. But he could at least have a sense of closure, of seeing the ending of the story for himself. He looked down at his snakeskin shoes as if the scales could somehow give him courage and then looked back up, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. Tonight he was Lord Anthony Crowley, a man beholden to no one who had held the admiration of a prince. He steadily climbed the stairs, handing his invitation to the servant at the entryway one last time, and stepped into the bright golden glow of the ballroom. 

His eyes scanned the room, searching, searching… and there he was, dancing a waltz amidst a swirl of brightly clad couples, a blonde haired maiden in his arms. The prince was dressed all in dazzling white again, this time with gleaming wide gold braid stitched in loops to the edges of his silk frock coat and waistcoat, gold buttons adorning the ensemble, and a gold filigree mask swirled in place over his eyes. As the prince turned his partner around the dance floor Crowley caught a better look at the maiden he was dancing with and his heart sank as he realized that it was Hester. If she was who the prince chose tonight there went his fantasy of hoping that the prince would be happy with his choice of spouse; he couldn’t imagine Hester making anyone happy and he knew how hard she and his stepmother had been working to present a false impression of her true nature. At least his other fantasy of them moving out of the house and finally leaving him alone had a chance to come true, which was a small thing to try to fill the widening gap of his breaking heart.

Crowley let his eyes drink his fill of the prince, trying to commit the shape of him to permanent memory and was just about to take a step to slink into the shadows when Prince Aziraphale suddenly raised his head and looked straight up at him. The prince abruptly stopped mid spin, the other dancers next to him stumbling over their feet in their efforts not to crash into him. This caused a ripple effect of all of the dancers stopping one by one, and even the orchestra stopped in confusion as the last of the dancers became still. A growing silence filled the room as the chattering of the guests slowly stopped, everyone turning to see what was happening.

From the far end of the ballroom the prince’s eyes locked on Crowley, apparently heedless of the scene around them. He stepped away from Hester and raised his arm up slowly to the dais Crowley was standing on, his hand held out to him, palm up beseechingly. Even from that distance his eyes blazed from behind his golden mask pinning Crowley in place, trapping him with gaze alone. Crowley could feel his heart thumping wildly in his chest, sounding loud in his own ears against the hushed silence of the room as he shuddered under the intensity of those eyes. He couldn’t look away from the prince if his life depended on it although he was keenly aware of the increasing turning of heads following the prince’s gaze to stare at Crowley standing frozen on the dais. His conflicting instincts to simultaneously flee and move closer settled as he suddenly knew with a clarity that brought a calm wash soothing over the jagged edges of his seething emotions that he was incapable of not going to the bright Alpha calling to him silently. 

_Just breathe._ He inhaled shakily and barely registered the movement of his legs as he began descending the steps down to the ballroom floor. As he stepped down Prince Aziraphale mirrored him, stepping forward with slow purposeful steps, his hand still reached out to him. The sea of nobles between them parted as waves recede from the shore as Crowley and the prince moved closer towards each other, their eyes never breaking contact. They stopped an arms length away from each other near the edge of the dance floor, Crowley’s hand slowly rising to settle in the prince’s outstretched waiting one. The touch felt grounding, soothing the inner burning turmoil searing his insides at the sensation of being held, even if only by the curl of the firm fingers beneath his own. The prince looked at Crowley’s face searchingly and then asked quietly, in a voice ringing with steady intent, “May I have this dance?”

Crowley nodded, unable to speak and laid his other hand on the prince’s upper arm which circled around to his back. There was a pause as they settled into the sensation of being in each other’s arms in the formal dance position, then Prince Aziraphale turned to look over his shoulder at the silent orchestra, making a twirling gesture with his hand. The players raised their instruments and the sounds of the waltz resumed. The prince turned his attention back to Crowley and with an initial slight swaying to get them into the beat of the music, stepped around him and then they were spinning slowly across the dance floor, nobles moving back out of their way as they moved down the line of dance. 

For what seemed like an endless time of turning as if in a soft dream to the three count melody, lost in the rhythm of the simple gliding footwork— _step around, step around, one two three, one two three_ — the prince tightened the grip on their joined hands, raising it and pushing slightly with the other hand on Crowley’s upper back, and Crowley found himself expertly spun out, and then back into the prince’s arms before he had hardly realized what was happening. The hushed solemnness of their dance lightened, shifting to a feeling of playfulness as Crowley smiled delightedly which the prince answered with a grin. The prince spun him out again, this time stepping to the side on his turn back and catching him neatly around the waist, tucking him firmly next to his side and stepping backwards to guide him through a few more gliding steps before letting him go and twirling him again. They both kept smiling at each other, a sparkle in the prince’s eyes as he languidly spun and twirled Crowley around the dance floor with practiced ease. Crowley stumbled a little on some of the more complicated footwork the prince tried as he looped him around and back again, but the prince was always instantly there with firm arms to catch him and guide him back into the rhythm, never losing the warmth in his eyes or the smile on his lips. 

Crowley caught a glimpse of something golden fluttering behind the prince and at one point when the prince turned himself under the arch of their raised hands he was able to get a better look at it. He exclaimed in delight, “Why, are those angel wings?”

“Yes indeed,” the prince replied with a coy look. “You kept calling me ‘angel’ so I thought it seemed apt.”

“Isn’t that taking the whole ‘appointed by God’ royalty thing a bit far? Or are you aiming for sainthood?” Crowley teased mischievously.

The prince snorted as he continued to glide him gracefully around the dance floor. “I’m certainly no saint. If nothing else the sinful things that I’ve been imagining doing to your body would certainly disqualify me.”

Crowley stumbled over his feet, Prince Aziraphale barely catching him from falling to the ground. As they found the rhythm of the waltz again he glared at the prince who had a far too pleased smirk on his face. 

“You’re a bit of a bastard, you know that?”

Prince Aziraphale merely looked at him with a wicked glint to his eyes that made Crowley laugh delightedly and want to kiss the smirk off of his face. 

It was as if he was caught in a dream, the figures at the edge of the dance floor seeming remote and indistinct, his aching heart and even the pain from his beating fading away under the sheer magic of dancing with the beautiful man in his arms. Although at one point the prince’s hand did catch him firmly on the lower side of his ribs after a turn out and Crowley let out a sharp hiss of pain. Prince Aziraphale looked at him in alarm and asked, “Are you hurt?” but Crowley forced a smile and shook his head, continuing the dance. 

As what must eventually happen to all things, no matter how magical they are, the orchestra eventually completed their piece and the music faded away. They slowly came to a stop, still holding dance positions. Crowley became more aware of the other figures in the room as being actual people and murmured, “Everybody’s staring.”

“Let them,” The prince said unconcernedly, his blue eyes still fixed on him from behind his golden mask. “All I care about is you.”

Crowley felt himself flush and stepped back, dropping his hand from Prince Aziraphale’s arm. The prince's grip tightened when he tried to let go of their joined hands though. He stared at their hands, trying to gather the strength to let go even as his Omega self practically purred in satisfaction at the Alpha’s expert handling of him on the dance floor. A cutting voice broke into his reverie. 

“I hope you enjoyed making your little scene your Highness, but playtime is over,” the voice was pitched low to carry only to the two of them. He looked up to see Gabriel looming over them, his face a mask of grim reprimand. 

“You should be happy, Gabriel,” Prince Aziraphale said calmly, his eyes never leaving Crowley’s face. “I’ve finally done what you’ve wanted me to do. I’ve chosen my betrothed.”

The words hit Crowley like a blow and he closed his eyes at the pulse of sharp ache that bloomed within his chest. He didn’t think the prince would be so cruel, to make the announcement of whom he would marry right in front of him. He braced himself, hoping the prince would get it over with quickly so that he could leave. Despite what Anathema had told him he didn’t think he would be able to stay here a moment longer than he had to after the prince said the words that would burn like heated daggers through his heart. 

“ _No_ , your Highness, I beg of you, you’re making a terrible mistake. Your mother will be furious.”

“My mother, “ the prince said in a clipped voice, “can disinherit me and go to Hell for all I care. I’ve made my choice.”

Then, in a louder voice, ringing with the practiced ease of royalty, said, “My good subjects, thank you all for gathering here today on this most important day. I know that you all have been eagerly waiting for me to announce who I have chosen to rule by my side and I am happy to tell you that your wait is over!”

During the scattered applause and excited chatter that broke out Crowley tried to tug his hand away from Prince Aziraphale’s, but for some reason the prince only held on tighter. Tears burned behind his closed eyelids. Why was he doing this? Couldn’t the prince see that he was destroying him, that his heart was falling into a million pieces to lay shattered at his feet?

The prince waited for the sounds to fade away and then said loudly and clearly, raising their joined hands high, “I present to you— my future husband!”

Crowley’s eyes flew open in astonishment as he stared at Prince Aziraphale, who was looking back at him, flushed with a look of profound happiness on his face. Amid the resounding cheers the prince leaned forward and said breathlessly, “Oh my goodness, I can’t believe that I still don’t know your name!”

“I— I—” Crowley stammered, looking helplessly at the impossible man of his dreams who had just declared to the kingdom that he was going to marry him. For one wild moment he almost believed this could be true, that this could be his future… 

_I would hardly choose an Omega… utterly distasteful to me_. The prince’s words from the library flooded him, bringing his brief fantasy to a crashing halt. All the prince knew of him was based on lies, he thought he was an Alpha, he thought he was a noble, when in truth he was a penniless nobody, a worthless Omega forced to live on the charity of his stepmother who reminded him on a regular basis how grateful he should be for her meager handouts. The brief sparking flame of hope of having this magnificent man as his husband sputtered and died, flaking into ashes. 

“You can’t marry me,” he whispered wretchedly. He finally managed to yank his hand free of the prince’s and turned, blindly shoving through the throng of people in his way. He had to leave, he had to get away— he stumbled out into the night, dimly realizing he was out in the gardens again. He paused, wiping at his eyes and forced himself onward when he thought he heard the prince’s voice calling after him. 

His inner Omega howled at him for leaving his Alpha— _not his, not his_ — which made each long stride away from him that much harder, as if wading through a chest high swamp. He focused on the ground below him, willing each foot to move forward one after the other. 

The distant calling voice was a little closer now, “ _Please_ my dear, let me talk to you.” 

He wrenched his eyes up to see that infernal hedge maze looming over him and he darted into it. Of course he quickly became hopelessly lost and after several frustrating turns he backed into a dead end, sinking down to the ground with his arms wrapped around his bent legs, his head on his knees as he waited. Soon enough he heard footsteps moving towards him, then a long silence. He sensed the prince kneeling before him and he kept his head down as the thick tension pushed between them. 

“There I go again, making assumptions about what you want. You don’t have to marry me, of course. I’m so, so sorry that in my arrogance I assumed you would be willing. I thought you might have… feelings for me.” His voice was thick with emotion, and Crowley raised his head to see the prince, his face bare of any mask, looking at him with anguish evident in those bright expressive eyes that glimmered with unshed tears in the moonlight. 

He couldn’t stand seeing the prince in pain and words tumbled from his lips in an effort to ease his unhappiness. ““I swear to God you have _no idea_ — I have _so much_ feelings for you I can— I can hardly contain it,” he choked out.

The prince caught his breath and an expression of cautious hope flitted across his face. “Then why—?” he asked softly, and then with alarm, “Oh dear God, are you already married?”

“No!” Crowley blurted. He watched the prince’s expression change to a look of relief, and then it was suddenly all too much, the trappings of Society, the very lie of the clothes he was wearing, he was suffocating under the weight of it all— Crowley pulled off his mask, throwing it down, then tore off his cravat, flinging it and the snake tipped pin to the ground. He pulled open the neck of his shirt that suddenly felt too confining around the lump in his throat and started to yank off his frock coat, then stopped, realizing the ridiculousness of apparently taking his clothes off in front of the prince as if he was crazed. He laughed half hysterically at his actions, at the whole world gone mad as he stood and gestured to himself wildly. 

“This— this isn’t _me_. I’m not who you think I am! If you knew, you wouldn’t want me.”

Prince Aziraphale stood as well and said swiftly and firmly, “I don’t care what your station is, if that’s your concern. And I don’t care that we can’t have biological children together. If you want children, we can adopt, or I can arrange for a surrogate.”

Just when he had thought there couldn’t be any further shocks in store for him today, Crowley gaped at him, dumbfounded that a royal prince would actually be willing to give up having biological children to be with him. The prince thought they were two Alpha males that couldn’t breed together. The irony of it all was that of course as an Omega he could bear the prince’s children, but the knowledge of what Prince Aziraphale thought of Omega’s still stood out sharply in his mind. 

The prince seemed to take his silence as encouraging and stepped forward closer, slowly and cautiously reaching out to take his hand as if he were a wild animal that would spook easily. “I know this is all very sudden, and we haven’t talked about marriage, let alone children, but if you do want children I confess I’m much taken with the idea of surrogacy; the idea of seeing our little one with your gorgeous red hair is simply enchanting.”

His emotions already in turmoil, his Omega instincts swelled with a sharp yearning at the mention of having children with the Alpha, yowling at him to submit, to let his Alpha take him and breed him… he breathed out heavily, trying to control the impulse to fling himself onto the man before him and beg him to take him right there in the maze.

Then the prince’s sharp eyes landed on his neck and before Crowley could stop him his hand came up and pushed aside his loosened collar to see the dark bruise on his collarbone. 

“You _are_ hurt,” he growled, his face drawn in anger. “Who did this to you?” he demanded fiercely. 

Crowley could only shake his head helplessly, at an utter loss as to what he should do, trembling with the force of his emotions. The prince took a steadying breath and closed his eyes briefly, seemingly forcing himself to relax before opening them again.

“Please come back inside my darling,” he said with an exquisite tenderness to his voice that sunk like claws into Crowley’s very soul, the prince’s eyes fixed on the bruise with concern. “I’ll find us a quiet room where we can work everything out.”

A tear spilled down Crowley’s cheek as he finally nodded. Prince Aziraphale smiled in relief and tugged on his hand gently. Crowley followed automatically, his mind still stumbling and tripping all over itself in a tangled snarl at what he was possibly going to say to the Prince when they went back inside, at how he was going to handle the look of dismay, no disgust on his face when the prince finally found out all of the aspects of who he was. For all that he followed without resistance he couldn’t help but feel as if he was walking towards the gallows as the prince led them back out of the maze. But as soon as they stepped out Gabriel and two palace guards were waiting for them. The prince let go of Crowley’s hand and stepped in front of him, as if to protect him. 

“The Queen has summoned you to her presence,” Gabriel stated haughtily, as he drew himself to his full height with his chest puffed out.

Prince Aziraphale looked at him sourly. “You just couldn’t wait to run to her to tattle on me couldn’t you?” 

“It’s for your own good, your Highness.”

“Really? And what would you or my mother know about what is good for me? I refuse to accept that my primary value to the kingdom is that of a stud horse, and that my spouse’s only value is to be a broodmare.”

As they exchanged tight angry words Crowley realized that neither of them were paying any attention to him. He took a step to the side, and another without them noticing. One of the guards watched him leave but as he was under no instructions to prevent it he simply turned his attention back to the much more interesting drama of watching highborns yell at each other. 

As quietly and quickly as he could, Crowley slipped away, going directly to the stables, vibrating with impatience and looking nervously over his shoulder as he waited for Bentley to be brought to him. Thankfully his wait was short and he kicked Bentley into a gallop for home. 

He let the horse slow to a meandering walk after they were far enough away from the castle and at one point came to himself with a start, realizing that Bentley had wandered off the road and was contentedly nosing the ground in search of succulent tufts of grass to graze. He looked up and stared up into the stars dotting the night sky.

He watched them blur through the tears running down his face. A shooting star crossed the sky and he had a sharp flash of memory of his nanny crouched down beside him when he was a boy, telling him to wish on one. What did he possibly have to wish for now? Nothing that would have the remotest chance of coming true. 

Eventually he wiped his face with his hands and took some sniffling breaths, nudging at Bentley’s flanks towards the Pulcifer’s, putting him away in the stable. He took his time grooming him before walking up to the house to let Newton know that the horse was back. Just as he raised his hand to knock on the door it opened, Newton in the final motions of shrugging his coat on to step outside to meet Crowley down the road. Newton stopped, short, surprised. The lord furrowed his brow in concern as he took in Crowley’s tear streaked face.

“Do you want to come in to talk? Anathema’s in bed but she won’t mind if I wake her.”

Crowley shook his head firmly, trying to manage a smile that felt like more of a grimace stretched across his face. 

“No, I’m… tired. I’ll come for a visit later.”

He turned away, his numb mind dimly registered the faint tones of the Pulcifier’s clock striking midnight as he began the walk home.

He was lucky to have had such a wonderful, magical experience, he told himself wearily. If only Aziraphale wasn’t a prince, if they could have met under very different circumstances… but no sense in wishing for what ifs, that way of thinking just led to despair. He would be happy with… well, no, not happy. Content?— with the little time he had gotten to spend with the prince and feel wanted and desired, feel special… content wasn’t the right word either; not with his inner Omega writhing unhappily at being away from his Alpha. A sharp pang of fresh sorrow spiked through him as he turned the handle to his house to open it. No, the prince was not _his_ Alpha, and he never will be.

As he opened the door and stepped into darkness, he froze mid step at the sound of the rasp of a match loud in the silence of the night. He looked up with wide eyes to see his stepmother lighting a lantern and lifting it up to regard him. Her face was a mask of cold fury as she looked him up and down, taking in the sight of his elegant black clothing. Hester and Ligur sat in chairs behind her looking at him with disbelieving, shocked expressions. 

“I thought you looked familiar,” his stepmother said, her eyes narrowed. “I should have guessed it sooner, with that repugnant hair but I had almost forgotten the color, you clever little sneak.”

He gaped at her, glued to the floor, years of being under her authority making him immobile. 

“Did you enjoy making a fool out of us? Out of the prince? He was sure to propose to Hester, that then you— _you_ showed up, you wretched maggot, stealing her _rightful_ place, you horrible conniving slattern just like your mother—”

Crowley suddenly found his voice, something he would bitterly regret later. “I didn’t plan for the prince to propose to me, and Hester has no more right to marry him than anyone else does! And she certainly wouldn’t have made him happy, not with her incessant whining and the fact that she’s downright nasty to anyone she isn’t trying to impress; the prince is nice, and kind, and wonderful, and he deserves better than than—”

“ _Better?!_ ” his stepmother bellowed, Alpha dominance pushing out in her voice in waves. “There is _no one_ better than my lineage, certainly not you, you’re a nobody, a nothing, barely fit to scrub my chamberpot, you— you—” As her voice rose to a screech she stopped abruptly, smoothing down the front of her purple dress in angry jerking movements. 

“You will be taught a lesson, and then perhaps given some time to reflect you will come to realize how so very grateful you should be to me for allowing you the charity I have shown you under my very own roof.” She crossed over to the tall vase next to the door and pulled out a thick wooden walking stick tipped with a rounded silver head, hefting it thoughtfully. 

She handed the walking stick to Liger who stood and took it with a malicious smile. “Try not to break anything. He’ll need to be useful again eventually.”

Hester had watched the entire exchange with wide eyes and stood, stepping forward tentatively. “Mother,” she said uncertainly, “the prince seemed very happy with him, I think that—”

His stepmother narrowed her eyes and lashed out, “ _Thinking_ is not one of your strong suits Hester. Leave this to your betters. There is hope yet that we might be able to salvage this farce.” She started to sweep from the room, then paused when Hester remained motionless and said sharply, “ _Hester_. Go to bed.”

Hester hesitated, her eyes darting between Crowley and her brother. 

“ _Hester. NOW._ ”

Hester winced and scuttled off, lowering her eyes as she left the two men alone in the room. 

Ligur looked at Crowley and said, “Looks like you weren’t paying enough attention to my lesson from the other day. I’ll have to be sure I have your complete attention tonight.”

Crowley backed away, raising his hands and shaking his head frantically. “No, please, you don’t have to do this, we’re family Ligur, _please._ ”

Ligur snarled, “You’re no family of mine!” and swept the walking stick down hard, knocking Crowley to the ground. He scrabbled on his hands and knees to try to get away, but Ligur kicked him in his ribs, catching one of the spots that was already bruised and Crowley cried out as he crumpled to the floor clutching his side.

There was a brief silence and Crowley looked up at Ligur from the floor, the menacing outline standing over him wavering as his eyes filled with tears. 

“ _Please_ Ligur, don’t.” he pleaded one last time, tears sliding down his cheeks. 

Ligur looked down at him impassively, slowly spinning the walking stick in his hands. Mid spin the cane suddenly lashed out, connecting hard across Crowley’s arms and catching part of his face, causing his head to slam against the floor. His cries only seemed to encourage Ligur as he continued raining blows down on him, the meaty thuds and Crowley’s cries of pain filling the room. Crowley curled up into a ball as best as he could, trying to remember the feeling of gentle hands in his hair, of soft loving words and tender touches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yikes, what an ending! I hovered on how detailed to make the interaction with Ligur. I’m not very practiced in writing violent scenes and I didn’t want to be too graphic but I did want to paint the picture enough to grab the reader by the heartstrings because apparently I enjoy being a mean author._
> 
> _The ballroom scene is my absolute favorite part in this story. I do formal ballroom dance and am such a sucker for tender dance scenes, so that part of this chapter was incredibly self indulgent._
> 
> _I can hardly wait to read what you lovely readers thought of it, thank you so much for all of your wonderful comments and encouragement so far-- some of your comments actually inspired me to write an extra chapter later on to fill in a gap I think you'll want. :)_


	10. The Search

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You wanted some angst to read today, right? No? Umm, here's my gift to you anyway._
> 
> _It was an absolute pleasure and delight to read the comments left on the last chapter, I'm so very, very thrilled that so many of you are enjoying this so much! Thank you endlessly for your support!_

Aziraphale was beside himself, in a frenzy that pulled at him with great snarling claws demanding that he take action. He couldn't keep still, pacing back and forth restlessly, unable to sit for long, his hands tugging at his coat or fiddling with whatever object found its way into them that was just as likely to end up being flung against the wall as it was to be placed back where it belonged. 

He looked down at the object he was currently turning over and over in his hands, a white ceramic drinking cup with ridiculous angel wings for a handle that had been gifted to him by a visiting foreign merchant at one point. He started to put it back down on his desk then without thinking spun and hurled it against the stone fireplace, feeling a grim satisfaction at seeing it shatter into sharp white shards. He had a deep seated feral desire to clutch those shards in his hand and plunge them repeatedly into whoever had _dared_ to hurt the man who consumed his aching heart with a blistering need to hold him close and never let him go. The memory of seeing that dark bruise against the man’s pale skin haunted him and drove his Alpha senses into a protective frenzy, howling at him that he had to protect the man his inner self was already trying to think of as his mate.

He turned sharply away from the fireplace. He had to get control of himself. As much as that ridiculous cup was long overdue for that particular fate it was beneath him to go around smashing things like a spoiled toddler. He cursed himself for being distracted with yelling at Gabriel and letting the man he wanted— _needed_ to marry vanish into thin air and struggled to control the powerful driving compulsion to _find_ him, to _protect_ him that threatened to drive him mad. If only he could _find_ him! That morning he had personally interviewed all of the castle staff that was at the ball, but no one knew who he was. The only detail the stableman could give him was a description of the black horse the man rode in on, which was utterly useless, as black horses were not particularly uncommon. 

He placed his palms flat against the cool dark wood of his desk, gritting his teeth while taking slow breaths in an effort to try to calm down enough to think clearly so he could formulate a plan of what he could do next. If only his blasted mother hadn’t had the gall to send Gabriel to interfere— his head snapped up as a firm resolution took over him. Well. There was at least one thing he could do to insure that this wouldn’t happen again.

He walked briskly past the startled guards stationed outside of the throne room and shoved the doors open. His mother was sitting on the throne, resplendent as usual in a cream colored satin gown with a gold floral lace overlay, pale blonde hair swept away from her face in an artfully arranged coiffure. He strode directly in front of her, past the officials who were going on about something they undoubtedly thought was of the utmost importance but that Aziraphale couldn’t give two figs about right now. 

He stopped in front of the throne and swept his eyes around the room. “You are all dismissed,” he said in a firm tone that rang out in the room. 

As one all eyes in the room widened in astonishment. He was not known for being authoritative, and in fact had a reputation for being soft for an Alpha which was perceived rather derisively by several of the Alpha heads of Houses. Several of those present looked at the Queen for guidance, and Aziraphale turned to the Queen as well, a challenge flashing from his narrowed blue eyes. In other circumstances when he wasn’t filled with cold fury he would have rather enjoyed the brief look of surprise that flitted across her features that quickly settled into her usual controlled mask. 

There was a long pause, where all in the room seemed to collectively hold their breath, then the Queen nodded, waving her slender hand in dismissal. Aziraphale waited impatiently while the room slowly emptied. Several nobles lingered, likely in hopes to find out what had provoked this unusual development so they could immediately gossip about it with their peers but Aziraphale turned and pinned them with a fierce glare that quickly made them realize that yes, indeed, they had urgent business elsewhere to attend to. 

Once the door shut behind them he turned back to his mother. 

His anger gave his words the shape of teeth, a biting edge ringing in the air between them. “I have given my _entire life_ to the needs of this kingdom, never wavering or questioning in my duty. This is not the life that I would have chosen, in fact there is very little in my life that I have been able to choose for myself but I have obeyed every one of your orders in service to the kingdom without complaint. And I will continue to serve to the best of my ability except in one regard.” 

His voice lowered to a growl. “I _will_ marry this man and there is absolutely _nothing_ you can do to prevent that.”

The Queen opened her mouth to speak. Anticipating that she was about to argue, Aziraphale cut her off with his hand slashing through the air and a warning shake of his head, causing another look of surprise to again appear on her face. 

“Make no mistake Mother, if you try to force me otherwise I will willingly abdicate the throne to Uriel. And I wish you all the best in dealing with _that_ situation,” he said flatly.

Uriel was a cousin, next in line to the throne after Aziraphale but she was not well liked by the aristocracy or the common folk as she had a strong reputation of a holier-than-thou attitude and a penchant for a violent temper. For all that Aziraphale was perfectly aware that some of the aristocracy looked down their well bred noses at him because he lacked an air of fierce command and was not interested in what was considered to be typical Alpha pursuits, he had a good touch with the gentry and commoners, who responded well to his ready smile and lack of demand for genuflecting and protocol. 

As he wound down from his diatribe, his jaw and fists clenched as if readying for battle, his mother arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow over pale blue eyes at him, a clear message of _Are you quite finished?_ , then spoke when he remained silent. 

“You always did have a flair for the dramati,.” she informed him wryly.

Her finger tapped on the arm of the throne as she considered him thoughtfully, an odd look to her face that Aziraphale didn’t know how to interpret. “I cannot say that I’m pleased with your choice but I clearly have no say in the matter.”

Her expression shifted to one of stern authority, Alpha dominance projecting in her voice as she said, “You know it will be a problem if he is not of a noble House. However, I refuse to discuss the matter of succession until we know more about this mess that you have made.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but this time the Queen cut him off. “For God’s sake, Aziraphale, you will let me finish,” she commanded sternly. Aziraphale reluctantly shut his mouth and nodded. 

She paused, then said “I give you leave to use whatever resources you need. Go, find your young man and then we will speak again.”

Aziraphale prepared to argue further but then it sank in that she was not actually being as difficult as he had anticipated. He smoothed down his waistcoat to do something with his hands, then settled for a simple, “Yes, Mother.”

She gave him a small rare smile and waved her hand at him. “Bring him to me when you find him. I look forward to meeting the man who has made such an impression on my son.”

Privately thinking that he was going to keep the red haired man away from her as long as he could manage so that she didn’t scare him into running away again, he gave her a brief bow and turned to the door, nearly running into Gabriel in the process of leaving who unabashedly straightened up from where he had his ear pressed against the door. 

“Out of my way, you walking windbag,” Aziraphale snarled at him, still furious at the advisor in the part he had to play with the red haired man disappearing.

Gabriel regarded him calmly. “I’ve placed inquiries among the nobles and the gentry but no one seems to have any information about who the Alpha is. But he came on a single rider horse each time which suggests that he must live or have stayed with someone nearby. His hair color alone should make him memorable, someone must know something but they aren’t talking for some reason. I propose to start with that we visit every house and lodging within a day’s ride to make inquiries in person. It’s much harder to hide information when face to face.”

Surprised, Aziraphale said, “You were dead set against him. Why are you helping me?”

Gabriel flicked his eyes to the Queen. “I serve Her Majesty. If she wants this man to be found, I will find him.” He turned his violet eyes back to Aziraphale. “It does not bode well that no one can speak as to who he is. I suspect that he is not of noble blood.”

“I don’t care if his profession is to scrub chamber pots for a whorehouse,” Aziraphale shot back heatedly. 

He knew Gabriel was likely right; there was a reason the Alpha ran away and fear of discovery of impersonating a noble was a probable theory as to why. And that would have mattered to Aziraphale right up to the last ball when he finally stopped denying what his heart had been telling him and realized that _nothing_ mattered more than having the Alpha for his husband. 

Gabriel inclined his head. “As you say. I’ve made a list of places to start looking, shall we begin?”

Aziraphale nodded and walked out with his unexpected ally.

~*~O~*~

Crowley repositioned himself painfully on his bed, a gasping hitch escaping him as he gingerly settled down again. There seemed to be no part of him that was free of pain as a result of Ligur's methodical beating before dragging Crowley up to his room and throwing him on the floor.

The morning after the ball he had slowly managed to change out of his finery and into his regular clothes, which was slow going as he had to take frequent breaks and raising his arms over his head to remove his shirt nearly caused him to pass out from the white hot pain that burst in his side. But he persevered, gasping and trembling, and he shambled to his door to go downstairs to start his chores. When he tried to open his door he discovered to his surprise that it was locked. He stared at the handle numbly, then shrugged, wincing at the movement, and shuffled back to his bed to lay back down. 

Since then, he drifted in and out of consciousness in a haze of pain. The sunlight lit his room, and then darkness fell, and repeated… he had lost track of how much time had passed but he was grateful to be left alone. He thought that maybe he hadn’t seen anyone in several days, but no one came to see him or bring him anything in all that time. Early on he worried about what fate awaited him on the other side of that door but as time passed he lost the energy to care. 

He turned his head to look out dully at the cloudy sky he could see from his small window. It was a two and half story drop to the ground from the window, so unless he could sprout wings and fly he was stuck. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep again, which became easier to do as the days waned and ebbed into the night. As the days passed he drank all that he had left in his water pitcher and had long since licked the last drops of water from his wash basin. He felt a tired sort of gratitude that his burning thirst had waned to a sort of dry ache around the same time his stomach had stopped its hopeful grumbling and instead settled into a permanent hollow feeling that didn’t bother him too much. 

Thoughts of the prince were never far from his mind. He wondered how he was doing. Was he distraught when he discovered that Crowley had left? Did he resign himself to finding a spouse that was much better suited for him? A pang resonated within Crowley’s chest as he recalled the look of yearning pain on the Prince’s face when he told him that he couldn’t marry him, and he bitterly regretted running away like a coward. The prince had deserved an explanation as to why, even if Crowley had to endure watching the look of outrage and disdain come across the prince’s face.

He grimaced, not wanting to think about that. He’d rather pretend that the angel of his dreams was here with him, that the arms wrapped around him were not his own, but that of strong sturdy arms that would hold him close and protect him… murmur words of love and devotion into his ear as he slid into the welcome arms of sleep... a faint smile curved the edges of his lips as he dreamt of dancing with an angel on the clouds.

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale was so restless he felt as if he could jump out of the aching confines of his skin. He had barely been able to sleep in the days that had passed since the ball which he knew wasn’t helping his mood but every time he tried to close his eyes the innermost part of him _howled_ at him that he wasn’t doing enough to find the man, to protect him, that he was somehow running out of time. He and Gabriel had visited house after house, including taverns and inns, but they were still coming up frustratingly empty without a single clue to the man’s identity or where he might live. It was as if he had simply sprang into existence at the balls and then disappeared into the earth like a demonic spirit.

Trying to get the rest he knew he needed, he tossed and turned fitfully on his bed before throwing the covers aside in exasperation and getting up to stare out of his window and wait impatiently for the recalcitrant sun to finally light the night sky. 

Even in his agitated state he recognized the validity of Gabriel’s insistence that he couldn’t continue to pound on doors in the middle of the night. He tried to distract himself with a book but tossed it down in frustration when he realized he was reading the same sentence over and over and still had no idea what he had just read. 

He kept examining every conversation he’d had with the man trying to think if he had dropped some kind of clue as to who he was but he kept frustratingly coming up with nothing useful. All he could tell Gabriel was that the Alpha had mentioned having step siblings, but the advisor couldn’t find any meaningful matches on that meager piece of information in the tangled mess of records of the Houses. And when he had eagerly mentioned that the man had at least at one point lived somewhere where there was geese Gabriel had the courtesy to not laugh outright at him about how useless that tidbit was but even Aziraphale knew he was pathetically grasping at straws.

He pulled out the pouch that never left his person and pulled out a length of red silk, holding it to his face and closing his eyes as he breathed in the soothing scent of spiced apples with a hint of the deep rich loam of earth. 

The day after the ball he had suddenly remembered that the man had thrown his cravat to the ground and that he hadn’t been wearing it when he disappeared. He ignored the startled looks of his staff as he leapt up from his breakfast, utensils clattering to the floor as he ran as fast as he could into the hedge maze. A few turns later and there it was, a puddle of crimson next to the dark serpentine leather mask. He snatched it up and pressed it to his face, kneeling on the dew dampened grass nearly crying in relief as the scent flooded his nostrils and helped in a small way to soothe the angry snarling beast raging inside of him. The scent was so strong he could close his eyes and pretend for the briefest moment that the red haired man was right next to him, that he was safe.…. He took a last inhale and carefully tucked the cravat back into the pouch so that the scent didn’t dissipate too quickly into the air. 

When he was able to think rationally he found the strength of his own reaction of fierce need for this man he really barely knew rather bewildering. Before the last ball he had very nearly managed to convince himself that he could forget the serpent masked man, that he could do his duty to the kingdom. But at the final ball there was that fateful heart stopping moment when he caught sight of the man standing on the dias above him and it was if the veil of denial had finally dropped from his clouded vision. With absolute and complete clarity he suddenly knew beyond any doubt that he must have for his mate the man with the golden eyes staring at him as if he was the only person that mattered in the universe. 

That he should react that viscerally about anyone, let alone another Alpha, was odd. While it did happen that two Alphas would marry one another, it was rare due to the difficulty in navigating the dominating instincts between them. But the man didn’t behave in the usual posturing for dominance that tended to happen between two Alpha males. He seemed content to let him lead, literally as well as figuratively. Ah, well. It didn’t matter. They would have to figure it out together. Just as soon as he could _find_ him, blast it!

As soon as it was a decent hour for most people he gathered his staff and set out in the carriage once again to continue his search.

“Which house is next?” he wearily asked one of the entourage with him towards the end of the day. He and Gabriel had split up the search but it was still taking far too long in his opinion. He just couldn’t shake the pervasive conviction that coiled tightly in his gut that something was very, very wrong and that time was of the essence. The aide consulted his map. “The Morningstar House, your Highness, just up ahead.”

 _Well, this is going to be awkward_ , he thought ruefully. _Greetings Lady Hester, I know that it seemed like I was going to propose to you but whoops, I’ve changed my mind. Terribly sorry about that, but is there any chance you’ve seen my groom to be around here somewhere?_ ”

After using the door knocker and waiting to be admitted he looked around idly, absently admiring the lush greenery and flowers by the front door. Colorful tulips, irises and hyacinth pushed up from a neatly trimmed bed of petite leafed ivy trailed artfully over the edge of the raised garden bed framed by rose bushes. He was reminded of one of the earlier conversations with the serpent masked man, about how he had mentioned he enjoyed gardening. Of course, lately _everything_ reminded him of the Alpha, he thought as he cast his eyes up to the heavens in supplication. His eyes lit on ducks flying across the sky. There was that story of the wig stealing goose the man had told him… he shook his head ruefully. Yes, it was hopeless, really.

As he followed a servant through the manor to the drawing room the predominant scent of roses assailed his nostrils. There was a vase of them on a table by the front door, and then two more along the hallway. A pleasant enough scent, if a bit strong for his taste. As he entered the drawing room though, his steps slowed as underneath the cloying aroma of roses he thought he caught an undercurrent of… something… it wasn’t quite the scent he was looking for, and it was faint, but there was something oddly familiar to it...

Duchess Lucia and her daughter were standing in the drawing room awaiting him, and they curtsied deeply as he entered. He inclined his head to them as he looked around. There were several more rose filled vases in here as well. He felt a twinge of irritation at whoever was inordinately fond of the blasted roses as he tried to surreptitiously take a deep breath in an effort to figure out what was bothering him.

“You honor us with your presence, your Highness. Hester has been happily regaling anyone who will listen about how elegantly you danced with her at the palace balls,” the duchess said smoothly.

Aziraphale looked at Hester, who didn’t look happy. Underneath her somewhat stiff demure expression she looked… scared, which was odd. He supposed he should try to reassure the poor girl that she had nothing to fear from him. 

“Lady Hester, it is good to see you looking so well. It was indeed an honor and delight to be your companion for our dances together.”

She bobbed down in a curtsy like a marionette but didn’t say anything. Her mother narrowed her eyes at her daughter for a brief moment before she remembered her audience. “May I offer you some tea and refreshments your Highness? Or perhaps some wine or water to ease your throat from the dust of the road?”

“I would be most appreciative of some water to drink your Grace, but otherwise than that I must offer you my sincere regrets that I cannot stay long as my time is limited.”

The duchess opened her mouth presumably to order a servant to bring out water when Hester suddenly squeaked, “I’ll fetch the Prince some water, mother!” and with another jerking curtsy scampered out of the room. 

The duchess's mouth pressed together in a thin line as she glared at her daughter’s retreating back but she recovered quickly and placed a polite smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes. 

She said, “Hester is very eager to please, your Highness. She will make a good wife.”

“Ah, yes, no doubt,” Aziraphale replied awkwardly, recognizing the pointed jab.

He shifted uncomfortably, wishing to extricate himself from this awkward situation as soon as he could politely manage. “You, erm, may have heard that I am inquiring as to if anyone might have knowledge of the whereabouts of the red haired gentleman who was my companion at the last ball.”

The duchess inclined her head. “Indeed I have heard something of the sort. I regret to inform you that I have never laid eyes on a noble fitting that description outside of your ballroom.”

“Ah, yes, although I was wondering if by chance you know of a man fitting that description of any station, not just of the nobility. A tall slender Alpha with shoulder length red hair and amber eyes who may live or have stayed somewhere in this area around the time of the balls?”

The duchess regarded him impassively. “I regret to inform you that I am unable to be of assistance to you in your search, your Highness.”

Aziraphale didn’t really expect a different response at this point, but he felt the familiar twinge of disappointment all the same. Still, he kept trying.

“Perhaps your staff may have heard of or encountered him? Sometimes servants hear things the master or mistress of the house may not be privy to.” 

“I assure you that my staff knows nothing of whom you seek,” she stated firmly, with a hint of steel to her voice.

He paused, a little taken aback at the way she spoke to him. But he was tired, he reasoned, and probably imagining challenges to his authority where there was none. 

“Well then. My apologies to have wasted your time.” 

He glanced out at the window at the fading light. “I think I’ll need to decline your gracious offer of water after all, as I really must be going. I’m hoping to visit one more house before I lose the last of the daylight.”

As he turned he caught another whiff of that faint scent buried under the potent smell of roses that tickled at the edges of his brain, a scent of something that seemed almost familiar, but not quite right. He hesitated and looked back at the duchess. 

“Are you _positive_ you know nothing of the man? He hasn’t visited here, however briefly?”

“Certainly not, your Highness. That hair color alone would be quite memorable I think,” she said, looking back at him steadily. 

He shook his head, berating himself for his wishful thinking and said, “Of course. A good evening to you, your Grace.” 

He turned to leave the room, his shoulders slumping in dejection. Perhaps he would have better luck at the next house; if he hurried he could get there before dark...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It was not my original intent to leave things hanging yet again, but this chapter ran away from me and got longer, and longer, and when I decided to split it up this was the logical place to end it. But I give you reassurance that it will not be much longer before our dear Crowley is rescued._
> 
> _I was inspired to write the bit about the cup at the beginning of this chapter this morning as I sit here drinking coffee from my newly acquired angel winged mug identical to the one Aziraphale has in the Good Omens TV series, that I am simply utterly tickled to have in my possession. I may be slightly obsessed with this fandom. :)_


	11. The Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And finally the moment you all have been waiting for! Did you guess correctly what would happens next?_

Crowley woke to his shoulder being shaken and he blearily opened his eyes to see Hester leaning over him. 

“Get up!” she hissed at him.

“Just lemme lone,” he rasped out wearily as he closed his eyes again, wanting nothing more than to sink back into the comforting oblivion of sleep and escape from any part of Hester’s torment. 

She shook him again, harder this time. He cried out in pain from the sharp movement, which caused her to quickly let go and flinch back upright, staring at him, her dark eyes wide. Her face twisted into a grimace. 

“Look, I’m sorry, what Mother and Ligur did— it wasn’t right. The prince never looked at me the way he did you and— you need to go downstairs right now. I can’t help you, Mother can’t find out that I was here, so you have to do it by yourself.”

Her words made no sense, the sounds a meaningless ricochet like clinking marbles in his weakened pain filled body. “What? Why?”

Hester had already moved to the door, about to leave. She leaned towards him and whispered urgently, “ _He’s_ here! The prince! Looking for _you!_ ” And then she was gone.

Crowley lay there stunned, and then as the words finally sunk in he scrabbled at his blanket, pushing it off of him as he heaved his body out of bed. But as soon as he stood upright his vision went black around the edges and he fell to his knees hard, his head hanging down limply and his palms flat on the floor as he willed himself with all of his might not to pass out. The prince was downstairs, he had to go to him...

Shuffling on his hands and knees, he focused on crawling what felt like a yawning stretch of space to the door. _Bright curls gleaming in the moonlight._

He reached up to the stair rail, his hands wrapping around it tightly as he pulled himself slowly upright on shaking legs. _Twinkling blue eyes the color of where the ocean meets the sky._

Half stumbling, half falling steps down stairs on leaden feet that seemed to have forgotten how to move properly. _A teasing smirk on Cupid’s bow lips._

Bracing himself against the wall, he used it to help hold himself upright as he slid along it towards voices he could dimly hear against the loud thudding of his heart in his ears. Pushing himself out from the wall to take a shaky step towards the voices, he took slow deep breaths against the encroaching black at the edges of his vision. _Standing below him, a vision in white, his hand held out in supplication._

Then— _there_ — a broad figure in a cream colored coat and bright hair was turning away, walking out of the room, Crowley was too late— he broke into a shambling run gasping out _“Angel—!”_

As if in slow motion he saw the prince turn, the face that had been haunting his dreams changing to a look of astonishment, then alarm, arms reaching out to catch him as the blackness swallowed him and he was falling, falling… then all was dark. 

~*~O~*~

A heavy weight of barbed silence filled the room as Aziraphale stared down at the unconscious auburn haired man hanging limply in his arms. His disbelieving eyes took in the mottled bruises, swollen eyes, cracked and split lips and then he slowly raised his gaze to the duchess who was looking back at him with a defiant glint to her eye and a set to her jaw. 

“You _lied_ to me!” he raged.

A muscle clenched in her jaw. “Only to protect you, your Highness. He lied to you, he’s a worthless nobody, a fraud, not deserving of your—”

“That was not for you to decide!” he roared, cutting her off. He looked back down at the obviously severely beaten man disbelievingly. “You— there are laws to protect servants from this kind of abuse. How _dare_ you—”

She dared to interrupt him, her voice cracking out, “He’s not a servant.”

“What?” He blinked, his wits scattered at this astonishing turn of events as he looked down at the threadbare clothes the man wore that were not only suited for a servant, but the lowest of one at that.

“He is my stepson, and therefore under the law of my House to discipline as I see fit. As he deserved for deceiving you.”

Aziraphale looked back at her, stunned. “He’s your— your— family?” Outrage rose in him swiftly as he choked out the words, “He’s your family _and you abused him like this?!”_

What she was claiming was sheer absurdity; the man was a fully grown Alpha and so wouldn’t be subject to the rule of his elders, he— Aziraphale caught a whiff of something strange that caused him to look back down at the man sharply and he bent his head down, inhaling deeply. He very nearly dropped the man in utter shock. _He smelled like an Omega!_ The otherwise familiar scent of spiced apples was still there, but with the unmistakable Omega aroma. Despite the reeling shock he felt from what his nose was telling him, the scent caused the full force of his Alpha instincts to slam into him with the force of a raging storm and he swiftly bent down, lifting the man under his shoulders and knees and cradling him against his chest protectively.

He snarled at the duchess, “He’s coming with me.”

To his disbelief her face twisted in anger and she dared to say, “No, I won’t allow it—” 

His arms tightened around the man in his arms as he roared with the full force of his fury, “You _dare_ to defy me?! I’d like to see you try to stop me so that I can have the _pleasure_ of ripping your throat out with my teeth!”

That stopped her in her tracks and she clamped her mouth shut, her fists clenching. Shaking with rage, Aziraphale turned and swiftly carried the man lying limply in his arms out to his carriage. His wide eyed attendants started to reach out to take the man from him but Aziraphale snarled at them so ferociously, baring his teeth, that they quickly backed away, merely opening the carriage door while Aziraphale awkwardly maneuvered them both into it. 

As the carriage set out back to the castle Aziraphale looked down at the man cradled in his arms in bewilderment. He bent over and inhaled again; yes the unmistakable Omega scent was still there, mixed with the familiar spiced apples. How was that possible? Although it did make many things suddenly make a lot more sense. The lack of aggressive posturing, the confused look he had when Aziraphale accused him of playing coy with his Alpha instincts to dominate him, even the fierce intensity of his own instincts to protect and claim him, as if his own body knew the truth of what his nose was deceived by. This turned the whole insane situation upside down. 

He had no idea it was possible to change the secondary gender scent, let alone why the man had done it. He could imagine it as a ploy to entice the prince into an amorous encounter, perhaps trick him into an ‘accidental’ pregnancy, but although the man had responded fully and intoxicatingly to their kissing he reacted with skittish surprise when Aziraphale propositioned him in the garden the first time they met. And even if he had for some reason thought smelling like an Alpha would make him more enticing to the prince he had to have known that there was no way the Queen would allow her only heir to marry someone he couldn’t have children with… He regarded the unconscious man with wide eyes as he suddenly realized that part of this scenario had also changed. _He was an Omega... he could bear his children…_ Aziraphale’s breath caught at the implication. 

He pushed that revaluation aside to focus on the immediate problem. His instincts had somehow been right, the man _was_ hurt, had obviously been horribly mistreated in the days since Aziraphale had last laid eyes on him. He gave fervent thanks to whichever gods might be listening that he finally found him. To think that he had been so close to walking out of that house forever… He closed his eyes against the burn in his eyes at that thought and he let out a small broken gasp as he cradled him more firmly against his chest, pressing a kiss to his forehead. If the man will have him, he will never let him go again. 

He frowned, annoyed as he realized he had missed the opportunity to command the duchess to finally tell him what the man’s name was. No matter. The duchess had claimed he was her stepson, which was another wild revelation that didn’t make sense, but if that was true there had to be records. Then they can start again properly, with no misunderstandings between them.

Once they arrived at the palace Aziraphale demanded that his physician be sent for immediately as he strode to his quarters, setting the man down gently on his bed. After tucking a blanket close around the unconscious figure he hovered anxiously, feeling a desperate need to take care of him but had no idea what he should do.

When a knock came at the door Aziraphale bade them to enter, expecting his physician, but Gabriel stepped in. He turned to regard the advisor dourly. Of course Gabriel was probably better informed of the going ons in the palace better than anyone else and as soon the news of the scandalous sight of the prince striding through the palace carrying an unconscious man flew to his ears he immediately came to investigate the matter personally. Gabriel walked over to assess the battered figure. 

“I’m told you found him at the Morningstar estate.” he said, his face impassive.

Aziraphale didn’t bother responding, knowing full well that Gabriel knew exactly which house he had emerged from with the man dangling limply in his arms for the servants waiting at the carriage to gape at.

Gabriel stepped closer, then his nostrils flared and he startled, staring down at the red haired man. _“He‘s an Omega!”_ he said, shocked. 

“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” Aziraphale replied wearily. God, how long had it been since he slept? His eyes felt like there was sandpaper behind his lids.

“How—? This is— you can’t— he’s obviously some kind of servant, and an _Omega_ on top of that—?”

His temper overrode the amusement he would normally feel at seeing Gabriel reduced to sputtering in shock. Aziraphale snapped and yelled, “Oh, get over yourself you pompous narrow minded windbag! First you and Mother are up in arms at the thought of him being an Alpha and now you’re turning up your nose because he’s an Omega?! I’m surprised that you’re not arranging for heralds to blast trumpets in the streets, calling for a celebration of the masses that now I’ll be able to breed him to your heart’s content!”

“Angel?” came a weak voice behind him.

 _Damn it!_ Aziraphale swore to himself. Of _course_ he chose this moment to finally wake up. He spoke to Gabriel under his breath, “Duchess Morningstar told me that he was her stepson. Nothing about this makes sense; see if you can find out the truth of the matter. You are dismissed.” 

Gabriel bowed stiffly and left, probably to scurry off to his mother like a cockroach to report this latest development.

He turned back to golden eyes blinking at him hazily in confusion. “Where am I?” The man mumbled.

Aziraphale stepped forward, his heart in his throat as he replied, “At the palace.”

The man looked blankly around the room for the moment as he took that in, then his gaze settled back on Aziraphale. He raised his hand weakly towards him, which Aziraphale caught with both of his hands. 

“You look tired,” the man said.

Aziraphale huffed out a short disbelieving laugh. “Me? You look half dead my darling.”

The man turned his head away, as if ashamed.

Concern shot through him. “It’s all right my dear, please look at me. I swear to you that I will take care of you, I will protect you. You will _never_ set foot in that horrible place ever again.”

The man turned back to look at him and smiled slightly, his eyelids starting to droop down to close again.

“Wait— before you go to sleep my darling, please, I still don’t know your name.” he said pleadingly.

The man roused himself with an effort and let out a little sigh. “M’ Crowley. Anthony Crowley. I go by my last name though.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale breathed. “I’m so very pleased to finally meet you properly my dear boy.”

“You too, your Highness,” Crowley mumbled drowsily.

“None of that now,” Aziraphale chided gently. “I liked it better when you called me angel.”

Crowley smiled a little, clearly struggling to stay awake. 

“Sleep now my dear. I’ll be right here by your side.”

Crowley mumbled something unintelligible in reply, already sliding into sleep.

Aziraphale watched him, irrationally afraid that if he took his eyes off of Crowley he’d disappear. Once his physician, Doctor Mallory, arrived he refused to let go of their joined hands, which caused the grizzled physician to huff at him in annoyance but managed to conduct his exam well enough, gently pinching the the top of his other hand and watching the skin tent as he clucked his tongue, examining his bruised body, and peering into his mouth.

Finally he stood up from bending over his patient and turned to the prince who was awaiting his report anxiously. “Well, aside from the obvious beating he’s severely dehydrated and it appears that he may have been starved. He’ll need to be given fluids and food slowly. I’ll need to come back when he’s awake to assess him further, but I think it’s likely that time will be sufficient to heal the rest of his injuries.”

He pulled a small cloth from his bag and wet it from the water pitcher. Leaning over the bed, he said, “Help me prop him up.” Aziraphale nodded and gathered Crowley into his arms, pulling him up while Doctor Mallory stacked the pillows behind his back so that when Aziraphale laid him back down he was partially upright. The doctor then pulled Crowley’s mouth open and squeezed a few drops from the cloth into his mouth. He waited a moment, then did it again. He looked over at the Prince.

“He’ll need to be given small amounts of water like this until he wakes up and can drink on his own. Only a few drops at a time, if it’s too much he’ll choke. I’ll call for a servant so I can demonstrate the technique to them.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I’ll do it.”

Doctor Mallory frowned. “It will likely take all night, surely it would be better to—“

The thought of someone else taking care of the man his instincts were already thinking of as his mate set his teeth on edge. 

“I said I’ll do it!” he snarled, his body tensing as if to fight off the imaginary horde of servants about to sweep in and take over his responsibility.

The physician who had known Aziraphale since he was born merely raised a gray bushy eyebrow at the prince’s vehemence. “It’s like that, is it?”

Aziraphale met his eyes and nodded helplessly.

“Well then, I’ll leave you to it. When he wakes he’ll need to eat small amounts of food that are easy to digest. I’ll go down to the kitchen to give them instructions and will be back tomorrow morning to check on him.”

He handed the cloth to Aziraphale and picked up his bag. 

“He should also be washed and put in clean clothes. I’ll talk to your staff about that.” He paused, then said, “Should I also talk to them about arranging an attendant to stay with you tonight?”

Puzzled, Aziraphale said “I don’t see why, I can call if I need anything.”

Doctor Mallory said carefully, “It may not be viewed as appropriate for you to be alone overnight with a young unclaimed Omega your Highness.”

“I assure you that his virtue is safe with me,” Aziraphale said dryly. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Your point is well taken though. Yes, do tell them.”

Doctor Mallory nodded and left. Shortly afterwards one of the senior staff came in, a matronly woman with her gray hair pulled back tightly into a bun who brought in a basin of warm water on top of folded towels. Another older woman came in behind her with a basket holding a nightshirt and soap. 

They placed the items on a small table and looked at Aziraphale expectantly. Belatedly, he realized that they were waiting for him to leave. His hands clenched involuntarily at the thought, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a grimace as he struggled with the insane impulse to roar at them like an animal for daring to suggest he leave his injured mate— He shook himself sharply. What was wrong with him? They weren’t mated— _not yet_ — his inner Alpha snapped— there was no reason he should be reacting this strongly. Probably just the strain of worrying and lack of sleep. 

He looked at the older of the women. Jane had served his family for as long as he could remember. She was consistently calm and capable with kindness shining through her polite formal exterior. He told himself firmly that she would take good care of the man he felt such an impossibly strong draw towards, that he will be safe. He forced himself to stand up and hope that he managed to not look feral.

“Thank you Jane. I— I’ll wait just outside the door.”

He paced back and forth in front of the closed door like a caged animal until Jane finally opened it. He quickly stepped inside to see the freshly washed man still sleeping, tucked under the blankets in a nightshirt.

As the women gathered up their bathing supplies, he pulled up a chair alongside the bed and sat down. He reached out to brush a lock of red hair off of the pale forehead. His loose shoulder length red hair was dull and tangled and Aziraphale longed to brush it out until it shone in the candlelight like it did at the ball, but that would have to wait for another time. He dipped the cloth into water and reached out to pull down on Crowley’s chin and squeeze a few drops of water on his dry tongue.

“Do you need anything else, your Highness?” came Jane’s voice behind him.

“It is my command that someone is to be with him to provide care always until he is recovered, even if I am not here. I imagine it should be someone knowledgeable on ways to help nurse him back to health.”

“I have a matronly cousin who has experience in caretaking for children and invalid of the nobility. She and I can share the duties so we can ensure that he receives excellent care every hour of the day.”

“Thank you, Jane.”

“I’ll step out for a few moments to send for her, and then will return to assist you with anything you need tonight. Do you mind if I do some embroidery while I keep you company?”

He waved a hand. “Not at all. I’ll try to do some reading myself.”

She nodded and stepped out of the room. 

Throughout the night he diligently kept at his task, alternating squeezing in drops of water with reading a few pages at a time of theories of economics during times of drought, which although necessary reading was dry enough that he knew he wouldn't get lost in the pages and lose track of the time. A few times during his administration the man stirred feebly and he waited with breathless anticipation to see if he would wake but he would always settle back down into sleep. 

After what seemed like forever, the light of the sun gradually lit the room. Aziraphale stood and stretched his back. He looked over at Crowley who was still asleep, but he was turned on his side and looked peaceful. He thought that perhaps Crowley looked a little better already, and the act of slowly giving him water all night had helped settle the bristling need of his Alpha self to take care of him. Knowing that Crowley was finally under his protection, was safe, hopefully meant he could relax enough to sleep for a few hours. He looked at his bed wistfully, a part of him yearning to crawl in under the covers and curl up against the sleeping figure but knew it would not only be presumptuous but also highly improper. Perhaps he could ask for a cot next to the bed… he felt a twinge of amusement at the idea. It would shock the servants senseless but it would have the added benefit of giving them something else interesting to gossip about. He was positive the entire castle knew by now about his sudden guest. 

But no, he was being ridiculous. No matter what his writhing instincts were yelling at him he would stay rational. There were guest bedrooms not that far away he could sleep in, and he would give strict instructions to wake him if there was any change in Crowley’s condition.

He stood and turned to Jane who looked up at him expectantly. 

“Even if I am not here he is to have his every need attended to. You’ve seen how to give him water until he can drink on his own?” When she nodded he continued. “As long as he needs tending to he will remain in my bed. I will sleep in one of the other rooms down the hall.” 

As he had anticipated to his amusement, her gray eyes briefly widened in surprise before she quickly hid her expression under the carefully neutral mask of those who worked in service. 

“Yes, your Highness.”

“Thank you Jane,” he said sincerely. “You’ve been up all night with me. Go get some sleep yourself.”

“I will as soon as my cousin arrives to relieve me, your Highness. Don’t worry about me, I’ve been up all night before with colicky grandchildren. I’ll be fine.”

With one last lingering look on the sleeping figure, he started to leave but as he opened the door he encountered Gabriel who had his hand raised to knock. He opened the door wider to allow him into the room. 

Gabriel glanced at Crowley, then back to Aziraphale. “It appears likely that he is Lord Anthony Crowley, the son of Lord Brandon and Lady Antonia Crowley. There is a record of a male birth from that union which seems consistent with his age. Lady Antonia died of a fever over twenty years ago, and Lord Crowley then married Duchess Lucia Morningstar, who was the widow of Duke Harrington. Lord Crowley died from a fall from his horse and the Duchess has not remarried since. As you know, the Duchess’s children from her first marriage have been out in Society but no one seems to know anything about what happened to Lord Crowley’s son.”

“So he does have a title after all,” Aziraphale commented, looking down at the prone figure. He still didn’t care if Crowley had turned out to be nobility or not, but it did make things easier. Now his mother will have no reason to try to object further to their marriage.

“A minor one, but yes. There is, however, the matter of him being an Omega. The Duchess has already submitted a formal demand for his return to her household, which is within her rights.” 

Aziraphale stared at Gabriel. “No. I absolutely will not stand for him returning to her. As long as I draw breath in this body I will _never_ let that happen!”

“She has the proper claim under the law. If you keep him here against the Duchess’s will there will likely be repercussions,” Gabriel warned.

Aziraphale slashed his hand through the air, furious. “ _Never_ , you hear me?! There has to be some loophole, an exemption. I’m the goddamned _Prince_ , surely my title has to be useful for something for once!”

“Even you are not above the law.” Gabriel pursed his lips, then said deliberately, “There is one way to protect him. If he were to marry, then his spouse’s claim would supersede the duchess’s. It would be prudent to expedite the arrangement through, as she is very influential and it would make things difficult to delay unduly.”

Aziraphale hesitated. He wanted to marry Crowley more than anything in the world but remembered how Crowley had run away from him in the ballroom. “I… don’t know if he wants to marry me.”

Gabriel looked at him disbelievingly. “You’re the prince,” he said matter of factly as if of course any of Aziraphale’s subjects would fall all over themselves in gratitude for the opportunity to marry him. 

Gabriel then said dismissively “Besides, he’s an Omega. You could marry him to a swineherd if you wanted to. What choice does he have?”

Aziraphale felt a prickle of anger at the tone and casually derogatory way Gabriel spoke about Crowley but recognized his point. This rushed, almost forced way was not the way he had wanted to marry Crowley but he would do anything to protect him… and there was the fact that his inner Alpha was pushing him to make Crowley his mate _now_ , giving him the insane impulse to go find the High Priest and drag him here to perform the marriage rites right in Aziraphale’s bedchamber. He sighed. He was tired, not thinking clearly, and especially with Crowley hurt his instincts were a mad seething jumble. 

He knew without a doubt that Crowley had some feelings for him, there was no mistaking the affection in those golden eyes for him or the passion they had shared. Marriages have been built on less, and he can dare to hope that perhaps in time Crowley will come to feel for his husband at least some measure of the emotions that threatened to consume Aziraphale in a fiery blaze whenever he thought of the auburn haired man. 

He had been hoping to have a longer engagement with his fiancée, had fantasies of courting him properly, showering him with gifts and affection while they planned the wedding together but it was far more important to make sure that Crowley was safely out of reach of the Morningstar House. 

“Fine.” Aziraphale said, resigned. “Begin making the arrangements.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I work in the medical profession and am so tickled when I have a reason to add in medical tidbits to my stories. Although I never thought I would have a reason to write about checking skin turgor, that was fun._
> 
> _Oh, and did you think the angst would be over? Yes? Ha ha, you’re so funny, I laugh._


	12. The Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Heh. I can’t wait to see what you lovely readers think of this chapter._

Crowley was dreaming that he was standing in the rain. He normally hated being wet and cold but this rain was pleasantly warm and somehow the sun was still shining, it’s golden rays soaking into his skin along with the water. But as he reveled in the pleasant sensation storm clouds began to roll in with furious speed from the distant horizon, dense angry looking dark shapes that filled him with a sense of dread as they blocked out the sun. The rain turned cold and biting, sharp stings pelting against his skin and he despaired as he bowed his shoulders against it, unable to cry out. But then the rain stopped just above him, although he could see it still striking the earth around him. The sunshine intensified; enfolding him in a warm comforting embrace and he could smell the scent of flowers…

He gradually became aware of voices at the edge of his consciousness.

“Never… has to be… useful…”

“To protect him… if he were to marry... spouse’s claim would supersede… duchess’s…” 

“… don’t know if he wants...”

As he swam up closer to full wakefulness he heard a dry tone say dismissively “He’s an Omega. You could marry him to a swineherd if you wanted to. What choice does he have?”

Crowley slowly blinked open his eyes to see Prince Aziraphale and Gabriel standing by the door. The prince looked tense and unhappy, his arms crossed across his chest and his eyebrows drawn down into a frown. Gabriel looked practically indifferent as he regarded the prince coolly. 

The prince finally said in a resigned tone, “Fine. Begin making the arrangements.”

“Yes, your Highness.” Gabriel bowed and left. 

Aziraphale sighed heavily and took a step towards the bed Crowley was lying in, startling when he saw that Crowley was awake and looking at him.

He grasped his hands together in a way that was becoming familiar to Crowley as a sign he was anxious. 

“Did you, ah, hear all of that?”

Crowley looked away. “Yes.” 

Aziraphale was going to marry him off so that he didn’t have to go back to his stepmother. He supposed he should feel grateful, happy even, that the prince was taking such a personal interest in his well being, but he couldn’t manage much more than a hollow feeling deep within his chest. 

“I— I’m sorry my dear. I know this is probably not what you wanted,” the prince said wretchedly.

Crowley looked back at him and managed a weak smile. “It’s as he said. What choice do I have?” And he knew he didn’t, not really. He just hoped the prince would select someone for him to marry that would be kind to him.

For some reason Prince Aziraphale flinched at his words as if they caused him pain. He looked so unhappy that Crowley opened his mouth to ask what was upsetting him when there came a knock at the door. Jane opened the door to admit an older woman with bright reddish orange frizzy hair already escaping her high bun and wearing a gown of a rather alarming combination of dark blue floral trimmed in bright green accents who bustled in and rushed right over to the bed. 

As she took in the sight of Crowley she gasped dramatically, pressing her hand to her heart and said. “Oh, my poor lamb, what have they _done_ to you?” 

Crowley looked at her in bewilderment. She looked incredibly familiar, but he couldn’t place where he might have seen her before. 

She took his hand and smiled down at him. “I was your nanny since day you were born up until when that dreadful woman made me leave you. You were so little the last time I saw you, do you remember me at all?”

“Tracy?” he said, his eyes stinging at seeing the only mother figure he had ever known standing in the flesh before him.

“Oh, yes my dearie, oh, you have no idea how happy I am that you remember me! I thought about you all of the time but never heard a word about how you were until Jane sent me a message that an Anthony Crowley needed caretaking. As soon as I read the letter you bet your bonnet I came as fast as I could.” She looked at him tenderly, placing a hand on his face gently as she took in his bruises and sunken eyes. “I’m here now and will take care of you.”

Crowley stared at her, his mouth opening but no words would come out. Tracy was here, he was not going back to his stepmother, he was going to be handed off to be married to some unknown person by the very man he yearned for with all of his heart… the shock of it all burst the dam that had been holding back his emotions rising up into a trembling swell until they spilled over, unable to be contained any longer. A sob escaped him, tears spilling over his eyes. Tracy unhesitatingly gathered him into her arms, murmuring reassurances to him like she did when he was little as he clung to her and began sobbing in great wracking cries. 

Aziraphale watched them, his hands fisting at his sides in an effort not to cross the distance and comfort Crowley as his instincts strongly demanded. His own eyes stung as he looked away and forced himself to leave, making his legs walk away from the distressed Omega with a great deal of effort. He knew he wouldn’t be welcome. Crowley looked so despondent at the idea of marrying him it was like a blow to his chest. But Aziraphale _had_ to protect him, and if marrying him— the thought making his inner Alpha rise up in possessive satisfaction despite his anguish— would do that, then he really had no choice. He had so hoped that Crowley would be happy to be his husband though, and seeing how unhappy he was at being forced to marry him tore at his heart. 

However, Crowley had obviously been so mistreated that it was understandable he would be worried about entrusting his future to someone he really didn’t know all that well. The had just met less than two months ago after all, and not actually spent that much time together. Crowley obviously hadn’t fallen for him the way Aziraphale had, in a way that was completely and utterly encompassing every fiber of his being. 

He stepped out and leaned against the closed door of his bedchamber, fighting with himself over leaving his distressed— not mate, not yet, no matter what his instincts were telling him— _fiancé_ then. But for all that he normally didn’t sleep all that much he knew he was exhausted, the days of little to no sleep and the maelstrom of emotions that had besieged him taking its toll. Crowley was obviously in good hands and he will be better able to take care of Crowley if he was well rested, he told himself firmly, and with that his inner Alpha finally relented a little bit and let him walk away, even though he couldn't help feeling he was failing the man his dragging feet was slowly walking away from. 

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale woke late into the afternoon, his first thought instantly of Crowley. He sat up at the edge of the bed groggily, unaccustomed to sleeping during the daytime and feeling rather out of sorts. He felt more rested, but could use a bath to clear his head after he checked on Crowley. He pulled on the cord next to the bed and soon there was a tap at the door, then a servant stepped in. 

Before he could speak, the servant said “A Lord and Lady Pulcifer arrived some time ago requesting an audience with you, your Highness. They were willing to wait while you rested and say they have some information about your— guest.”

Well. A bath would have to wait. He sniffed at himself and grimaced. With the events of the past days he had barely taken the time to bathe himself and would have to settle for another quick rubdown with a washbasin. But it was a small sacrifice to pay as perhaps he’ll finally be able to get some answers to the mystery that was Lord Anthony Crowley. 

He replied, “Escort them to my study and have refreshments available for them. I will be there shortly. Also send my physician and valet to me right away.”

As he entered his study the Pulcifer’s stood respectfully. He assessed them at a glance. They were well dressed but not overly so; likely wearing their finer clothes in anticipation of meeting with him. The lady’s fair face had a hint of a sunburn and scattered freckles across her nose, suggesting that she spent some of her time outdoors. They stood rather stiffly, appearing slightly nervous but not unduly so, which admittedly was a common enough reaction when meeting with royalty.

He sat in a red brocade armchair across from them and said, “Please, sit.”

They did so and they glanced at each other, as if uncertain as to what to say. Lady Pulcifier looked back at him and said, “We’ve heard that Anthony Crowley is here at the palace. We’ve come to inquire as to his well being as we’ve been very worried about him.”

Aziraphale drummed his fingers on the side of his armchair, uncertain how much was best to divulge at this stage. “He’s— in need of medical attention. I have my personal physician seeing to him.”

They both looked stricken and Lady Pulcifer swiftly asked, “May we see him?”

Aziraphale considered them. “Perhaps. First I would very much like to know what your relationship is with him.”

“Oh, yes of course. We’re his neighbors— more than that really, we’ve known him since he was a boy and he is very dear to us. He comes to visit us sometimes and we do what we can for him.”

Aziraphale looked at her intently. “What can you tell me about his home?”

At that question discomfort became evident on their faces and they looked at each other. There was a pause as Lord Pulcifier took his wife’s hand and squeezed it, looking back at Aziraphale to speak. 

“We know what little Crowley had told us through the years, and some of what we’ve guessed. We met Crowley after his father died but it was obvious his stepmother was treating him worse than any servant in her household, and she is not known for kindness to her staff. He worked like a slave at that house, and his reward was threadbare clothing, scraps from the kitchen, and maltreatment. Despite that he managed to keep his spirit of being a kind, good lad. Due to Duchess Lucia’s status we were powerless to intervene, but as my wife said, we did what we could.”

Something in the tone of that last sentence struck Aziraphale. There was something more there than merely giving Crowley a handout… Lord Pulcifier seemed to be almost protecting his wife, which was a little odd from a Beta male with an Alpha wife. Determined to get to the truth of the matter, he turned his focus back to Lady Pulcifier, leaning forward and projecting an air of royal command. 

He let a tinge of Alpha color his voice as he looked at her steadily and said, “Tell me.”

She ducked her head in submission as she inhaled sharply. “You have to understand, Crowley wasn’t doing anything wrong. His father was a Lord, he has a title, if he had been treated properly he would have not only been invited but encouraged to go to the ball. I only wanted to give him the chance to experience something beautiful for once in his life. So I gave him the proper clothes for it, and our invitation so he could get in, and— yes, maybe I hoped he might meet someone that could offer him a better life.” 

She looked up at him with fear in her dark eyes. “He told me that he had met someone wonderful at the ball. I had never seen him so happy, it was as if he was glowing from the inside out but I had no idea who he had met, I swear it. And then we heard that the prince himself had personally carried him from his house…” she trailed off and looked at him hopefully. “Was it really you that he was talking about? Who he said he had made a magical connection with at the first ball?”

 _Magical connection_ … well, that description was certainly apt. It was as if there was a spell that had ensnared them from the moment they met, binding them tighter and tighter together until Aziraphale could hardly breathe from the intensity of it. He was unaccustomed to speaking his feelings out loud and was loath to break that habit in front of strangers no matter how kind they seemed, so he settled for a simple, “Yes.” 

Anathema shook her head in disbelief. “I suspected the man he described was highborn, but the _Prince_ , goodness.” An indecipherable look flitted across her face. “That’s why he was so upset, after the second ball. He found out who you were, didn’t he?”

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably at the memory of the shocked look on Crowley’s face, followed quickly by the look of despair that left Aziraphale far too stunned to be able to respond as quickly as he should have that night, to try to keep him by his side. He felt a sudden wave of shame at his own cowardice. If he had not given into his fierce self denial about the undeniable connection between them and the stupid insistance that he couldn’t deviate from his duty perhaps Crowley would not be lying half dead in his bed.

The Pulcifier’s obviously cared about Crowley deeply and seemed to be a source of support and comfort that he could only imagine was desperately needed in what sounded like a hellish home. Feeling that he owed them some reassurance, he said. “I engaged in my own deception as to my identity for some time until my… feelings for him overrode my desire for anonymity. Yes, he was upset when he found out, which I’m only now beginning to understand as to why.”

Lady Pulcifier leaned forward and said earnestly, “Please, your Highness, you must believe me. There’s not a deceitful bone in that boy’s body, he only wanted to have a few nights of magic, please don’t blame him for it, blame me if you must.”

Aziraphale sat back and processed this new information. Of course he didn’t blame Crowley. The poor man probably thought he was simply going to enjoy a once in a lifetime experience at being at a fantastic event and instead he got tangled up with a prince, which must have been wildly beyond any expectation or experience he had.

“I’m not interested in blaming anyone for the circumstances under which brought Crowley into my life. Well, perhaps except for the Morningstar House,” he added darkly. “That is another matter entirely.”

There was still one other matter that he needed an explanation for. He watched their reactions carefully as he stated “He’s an Omega.” 

And yes, there it was, she flinched the tiniest amount as Lord Pulcifier too quickly said, “Ah, yes, Crowley managed to get an elixir from someone that would temporarily change his scent. He had no escort to the ball you see, it wasn’t safe for him to go as he naturally was by himself.”

Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully, relieved to have that mystery explained. He said deliberately, “That is certainly understandable, although if I were to know who was able to make such an elixir I would caution them to be very, very discreet. There are many that would not be nearly as understanding as I am.”

They nodded, a relieved look on both of their faces. 

After a brief pause, Aziraphale said “He is not well enough for visitors at this time but I am grateful that you came to me and for the loyalty and kindness you have shown him. When he is more recovered I will send for you so that you may see him. Rest assured that he will be very well taken care of in the meantime by my own personal staff.” 

He stood and they followed suit and walked to the door. Before leaving Lady Pulcifer hesitated, then turned to him and said earnestly, “Forgive me my presumption your Highness but I have to plead with you not to send him back to that house. We would be more than pleased to have him come live with us instead.”

A roaring anger rose up in him with the swiftness of a tidal wave as he snarled “He is never going to set foot in that house again. He belongs with _me_.” 

They drew back from him automatically, their shoulders hunching forward and heads ducking down in submission. He pinched the bridge of his nose hard to ground himself and sighed. “My apologies my dears, I think I’m still tired and not as in control of myself as I would like. Please rest assured that he is under my protection now. I do appreciate your concern and will certainly let Lord Crowley know of your well wishes for him.” 

After the Pulcifier’s left he set out to find Gabriel, who he found in the advisor’s office. 

He tapped on the open door as he entered. Gabriel nodded to him and held up a finger as he kept talking to the other person in the office who Aziraphale thought he recognized as the Master of Revels. As he waited for Gabriel to finish, Aziraphale took in the advisor’s ostentatiously large white desk with heavily ornate scrolled carvings gilded with gold leaf. 

He idly toyed with the idea of making a pointed comment as to how Gabriel was obviously overcompensating for some manly deficit with that monstrosity of a desk. Antagonizing Gabriel was normally a source of amusement but reluctantly Aziraphale decided to forebear since he needed the advisor’s cooperation in the current matters at hand.

Soon Gabriel stood with a short bow and Aziraphale nodded absently to the other man when he genuflected broadly as he left. 

Gabriel regarded him expectantly. 

Aziraphale eyed the plain narrow wooden chair across from Gabriel clearly designed to not encourage visitors to linger and decided to remain standing. He said “I’ve spoken to my physician, and he thinks it likely that Crowley will be strong enough to stand upright for the wedding ceremony within a week, provided we don’t make it one of those endless hours long affairs.”

Gabriel arched an eyebrow, somehow conveying with that miniscule use of muscle a tone of supercilious amusement at Aziraphale’s assertion. “I hardly think the bruises on his face will have faded enough by then even to be covered by cosmetics.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I agree that’s not preferable, but it doesn’t matter to me if he looks less than perfect; he could walk down the aisle in the rags I found him in for all that it matters to me.”

Gabriel sniffed disdainfully to convey what he thought of _that_ notion. “Royal weddings normally take months to plan your Highness. Expediting it to even over a matter of weeks will be a massive undertaking. I am aware of the practical reasons to rush through the preparations, but there is a certain image to uphold.”

“But I don’t _care_ about any of that, not when Crowley is at risk of being taken from me!” Aziraphale said, exasperated. “Can’t we just arrange for the High Priest to mumble a few words in front of witnesses and be done with it?”

Gabriel crossed his arms with an air of long suffering at the whims of nobility. “Even if your mother would allow that, which I highly doubt, your subjects will expect a grand royal wedding. If you don’t provide that there will be questions as to why. You need to consider that Lord Crowley is an Omega,” he said flatly. 

Anger swiftly clawed up within Aziraphale’s chest. “The prejudices against Omegas are stupid and baseless! I’m ashamed to realize that I—” 

“This is not just about you!” Gabriel said sharply, cutting him off. “Because of his secondary gender, Lord Crowley will already be perceived as weak and unsuitable for the throne by some and if you allow him to be seen as weak, as a victim, at a public affair with visible bruises that will further reinforce that image, it will not be beneficial to how either of you are perceived with the Houses.

There are already rumors about your rather overly dramatic retrieval of Lord Crowley from the Morningstar House—” his tone indicated that he quite obviously thought that was a grievous error in Aziraphale’s judgement “—but I can spin out the message that he was beset upon by brigands or suchlike and how you brought him to the palace so that your personal physician could care for him. The commoners will eat up the romanticism of it, which will be helpful to gather support for the union.”

“But— the duchess should pay for her crimes!” Aziraphale sputtered. “You saw him, he was beaten, starved until he very well may have died if I hadn’t found him! I want her arrested, thrown in jail until rats chew the flesh off her rotting bones!”

Gabriel shook his head, unimpressed. “And indeed if he had died she would have committed a crime she would have to answer for. But as an Omega his guardian has the legal right to discipline as they see fit.”

Frustrated, Aziraphale ran his hands through his hair doing himself no favors in improving its normal state of unruliness as he cast about for anything else he could do, visions of royal retribution sliding out of his grasp. “But she lied to me about not knowing who he was, surely that’s something I could imprison her for.” 

“Really?” Gabriel scoffed. “Shall you also throw the merchant who lies about the quality of his wares to you in prison? People lie to royalty all of the time; your jails would be filled and your populous empty. The Houses will not stand for imprisoning one of their own on such a flimsy charge of your royal sensibilities being offended. And again I have to remind you that allowing the public image of your consort be one of a victim will be problematic.”

Aziraphale seriously considered kicking the ugly desk but restrained himself from an unseemly display. That and the monstrosity was more likely to break his toes in the process than be damaged. 

Gabriel sighed. “Look, I am confident that I can arrange things so that it will make it difficult for Duchess Morningstar to continue her demands for his return. Offering a very public substantial groom price to the House combined with the message of what an honor it is for the Morningstar House to have someone in their family chosen to marry into the royal family will make it much more difficult for them to object.”

“Giving anything to that House sits very ill with me,” Aziraphale growled. 

Gabriel shrugged. “It’s a means to an end.” He paused. “But after the wedding… I know that you and I don’t always see eye to eye, but I do know that you are quite intelligent and I respect that about you. I am confident that you will be able to come up with a solution to this matter to your satisfaction.”

Aziraphale looked at him with some surprise at the rare praise. “Why, thank you Gabriel.”

Gabriel gathered up some papers on his desk, clearly at an end of expressing any further sentiments. “In any case if I’m to arrange for a royal wedding to happen mere weeks from now I clearly have quite a lot of work to do. If you would excuse me your Highness, I’ll get to it.”

Aziraphale thought about thanking him but figured they had both had quite enough of getting along for the moment, and left to seek out Crowley. His innermost self still chafed at the delay but if Gabriel was able to do as he said he was willing to wait. And it certainly was enticing to envision seeing Crowley resplendent in his wedding finery— he made a mental note to look up the Crowley House colors, hopefully it wasn’t an unfortunate combination of something like purple and yellow— walking down the aisle to him for all the world to see the magnificent man he would be marrying.

And perhaps in the short time they had before the wedding he could try to court him, maybe ease his mind that Aziraphale could be a good husband to him. Even though Crowley didn’t want to marry him perhaps their marriage still had a chance to be a happy one one based on mutual respect and affection if not love. And that would have to be enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I was surprised that so many of you thought I was going to marry Crowley off while he was unconscious (shotgun coma wedding, ha!); that didn’t even occur to me and I found that notion quite amusing._
> 
> _But thank you all so very much for your comments-- I read and cherish them all and because of them was inspired to add the entire conversation between Aziraphale and Gabriel at the end of this chapter to clarify what I was envisioning about the scenario. It turns out that my readers can’t read the thoughts in my head until I actually write them down, go figure. A special thank you to Vios_Shadow for giving me the idea to include the bit about Aziraphale trying to use the fact that the duchess lied to him against her, that totally made sense._
> 
> _And as far as the current set up between our two favorite boyos-- ineffable idiots, the both of them. :)_


	13. The Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Goodness this chapter and the next ran away from me and just kept getting longer. All I can say is that I keep getting inspired to add more bits due to the wonderful comments my readers have been leaving. Thank you all so very much for your support and encouragement, it means so much to me and it really does inspire me to write more._

Aziraphale tapped on his bedchamber door, smiling at Tracy when she opened it.

“Is he awake?” he asked hopefully, hoping to soothe the bristling need to see Crowley itching under his skin. 

“Oh, yes. He’s getting tired though, I was just about to get him settled for the evening.”

“I won’t keep him up long,” he promised.

He entered with quick steps, his eyes immediately seeking the man sitting upright in bed who gave him a slow shy smile that sent a thrill shivering down deep inside his chest. _He’s here, he’s finally here, I found him, I have him, he’s safe._ As he drew closer to the bed he saw that Crowley looked better than when he had last seen him; still bruised but less wan and he appeared happy to see him, which helped ease the heavy weight of failure he felt on abandoning his grieving mate earlier. He inwardly sighed. There he goes again— _he’s not my mate yet_ he sternly told himself. His inner Alpha seemed to shift within him disdainfully, as if projecting what it thought of the ridiculousness of that statement. 

Sitting down in the chair next to the bed, he took in sight of seeing for the first time Crowley’s brushed hair falling loosely in curling waves around his shoulders. _Good Lord_ that made Aziraphale’s fingers twitch with the desire to run his fingers through those dark crimson locks, wondering how it would feel to have his hands fisting around it to gently tug on and expose that long lean neck for him to— _get ahold of yourself this instant!_ he admonished himself. 

He held his hands tightly together, tempted to sit on them in case they reached out without his conscious permission as he asked “How are you feeling my dear?”

Crowley looked at him under his lashes, seeming a little bashful, perhaps about his completely understandable breakdown earlier. “Better. Tracy’s been taking such good care of me,” he said with a warm smile cast towards her. “I can still hardly believe that she’s actually really here after all this time.”

“Oh, pish posh,” Tracy said, waving her hand airily. “You’ll realize I’m real soon enough when I bully you into getting out of bed. I took it easy on you today dearie, don’t you go thinking I’ll be this soft on you tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am,” Crowley said with a smile. He leaned back against the headboard and turned his head towards Aziraphale. “I can’t believe how tired I still am. I mean, I love to sleep but I’ve hardly done anything but that today.”

Aziraphale tamped down the irrational seethe of jealousy in his gut of Tracy that she was the one taking care of Crowley as his instincts yowled at him that he was shirking his responsibility. But he was not going to force himself on Crowley and make things worse between them than it already was. 

“Get all the rest you need my dear. You’ll have your strength back before you know it.”

Crowley nodded, then looked down at his hands. “I, uh, suppose you have questions.”

“Perhaps some, but Lord and Lady Pulcifier came to see me today. They were very worried about you and told me much of what happened.”

Crowley looked up sharply, his eyes wide in alarm. “They’re not to blame for any of this, it was all me—”

Aziraphale hastened to reassure him. “They are not in any kind of trouble my dear, don’t worry about that.” He thought wryly to himself, _Today certainly seems the day for everyone to assume the worst of my character._

Crowley exhaled in relief, and turned his eyes back downward. “I’m sorry for lying to you,” he said quietly.

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed in dismay and he reached out, hesitating before placing his hand over Crowley’s. 

“I’m not.” he said firmly as Crowley looked up at him in surprise. “If that’s what it took to get you out of that house, for us to meet then I do not begrudge a single moment of it.”

Crowley seemed at a loss for words as he looked back at him, his golden eyes huge and seeming so vulnerable Aziraphale very nearly climbed into the bed with him to gather him into his arms. But then Crowley blinked hard and then looked away, gazing around the room as if looking for a distraction. “This all feels so surreal, like I’m going to wake up from a dream at any moment and be back in my own small room and little bed. Me— here— it’s strange, right? Doesn't it seem strange to you?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Not to me. At most it feels a little odd to have to knock before I enter my own bedchamber, but otherwise than that it feels perfectly natural to have you here with me.”

A look of confusion came across Crowley's face. “Your… what?”

Aziraphale gestured vaguely around the room. “You know.”

As realization dawned an expression of horror crept across Crowley’s face. “Do you mean to tell me that this is your _bedroom_? That I’m sleeping in _your_ bed?!”

Taken aback at his vehemence, Aziraphale said, “Well, yes. I thought you knew that.”

“No, I didn’t— I can’t believe I’m preventing you from sleeping in your own bed, that’s more than strange, that’s downright insane—” As he spoke he threw back the covers, apparently determined to leave the bed right then and there.

“Crowley, no— lay down, please, I want you here, it’s no trouble, please—” Aziraphale said with alarm as he stood, trying to discourage Crowley from getting up.

Crowley pushed away Aziraphale’s hands and swung his legs over the side of the bed, lurching to his feet, but as soon as he stood upright he swayed, his head drooping down as if pulled by weights as he pitched forward, falling. Aziraphale swiftly caught him and held him tightly against his chest, Crowley’s head falling heavily to rest against his shoulder. 

In the space of an instant, the feeling of Crowley finally in his arms again sank deep into the marrow of his bones, and the fact that he was so pliant hit him like an onslaught to his needs as an Alpha to take care of his— his— _Omega_ he breathed to himself, feeling something settle in satisfaction at the declaration. He shifted to wrap his arms more securely around Crowley, bracing his legs a little wider to support his weight.

Tracy’s voice came from the side of them. “Oh dear, I’ve been telling him that he needs to get up slowly. Shall I help you get him back into bed?”

The prince turned his head slightly and an involuntary low growl came from deep inside his chest. He could feel Crowley deliciously relax further into him when he growled, a small sigh gusting from his mouth to brush against Aziraphale’s neck.

“Of course, your Highness. I’ll be right over here, just let me know if you need me.”

Aziraphale had no idea how long he stood there, unable to let go of Crowley nestled against him. He could tell Crowley was awake as he was still partially supporting his weight on his own legs, and nuzzled with minute movements at Aziraphale’s neck. But he remained pliant in his arms and made no move to leave, which was perfectly fine with him. The scent of spiced apples so close to his nose was nearly overwhelming and it was all he could do not to strip him down and rub his own claiming scent all over Crowley’s naked body. Even though he knew Crowley was weak and injured he shamefully felt an erection swelling underneath his breeches and he prayed that Crowley was too out of it to notice.

He told himself firmly that he was _not_ an animal and refused to be ruled by his baser instincts. He closed his eyes and focused on channeling his desire to claim the man in his arms into his equally strong desire to protect and take care of him, to cherish him tenderly. 

Eventually he felt Crowley’s legs trembling and realized that the other man must be getting tired. He took one last deep breath of Crowley’s scent, which unfortunately made it harder to let go, but he gathered his resolve and raised his head to nod at Tracy who was waiting in the chair by the fireplace a respectful distance away. She stood and together they got Crowley back into the bed, who looked dazed. Crowley made a tiny mewl of protest as Aziraphale pulled away from him, moving his limbs heavily as he settled back on the pillows.

Crowley’s eyes were already closing as he mumbled in protest, “But I shouldn’t be taking your bed from you, it’s not right.”

Aziraphale let command seep into his voice as he said firmly, “It pleases me to have you in my bed.” He paused, aware of the unintended double meaning of that statement. It was true either way however, so he continued. “It is my wish for you to stay here until you are recovered. At that time we can discuss other lodgings if you desire.”

Although It was rather common for married couples of the nobility to sleep in separate bedchambers he couldn’t imagine wanting Crowley to sleep anywhere but in his bed, with him. But it wasn’t fair for him to overrule any wishes Crowley might have in that regard, especially as he had so little say in the marriage itself.

Crowley sighed “All right angel.” He turned to his side and closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep. Aziraphale stayed in the chair by the bed reading late into the night before he reluctantly left to sleep in a different bed, acutely aware that he was alone. 

~*~*O*~*~

The next morning when Crowley awoke Tracy brought his breakfast tray in when she came to relieve Jane from her night shift. 

She set down the tray and surveyed him critically, her hands on her hips. 

“Now then, let’s get some more food in you. You always were a skinny one, but gracious, look at you! You need some right proper taken care of dearie. Up you go, let’s get you into a chair for breakfast.”

Disliking the idea of leaving the warm bed that was more comfortable than any bed he could remember having, Crowley said “Can’t I eat it in bed like yesterday?”

“Certainly not,” Tracy said briskly as she pulled the covers away and gestured at him in a no nonsense manner. “It’s bad for the digestion to eat in bed. Come now, swing your legs over and then sit for a minute on the edge of the bed… sit up straight, head up, that’s a lamb. Ready to stand? I’m going to count to three and then I’ll help you to move to this chair, one, two three…”

Crowley found himself maneuvered up and into the chair by the bed before he quite knew how it had happened. 

Tracy placed the breakfast tray across his lap. “Now, work on eating this up, slowly now, just like we talked about yesterday.” 

He obediently took a few experimental bites of porridge before setting down his spoon to wait to see how his stomach took it. Yesterday his stomach had cramped fiercely after he had eaten and Tracy had scolded him for eating it too fast. He felt a bit of a twinge in his belly but it seemed to be less annoyed at him today, so he took another small bite. 

He felt full after only eating about half of what was on the tray which caused Tracy to tisk at him but aside from making him drink all of his juice didn’t press the issue. After she cleared the tray she told him it was time for him to take a bath. Shortly afterwards he approached the large marble tub on unsteady legs, looking at Tracy askance as she started to help him undress. 

“I’ve changed your nappies, silly boy. Also,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “I’ve had more than my fair share of gentleman callers that have me well acquainted as to what the dangly bits look like. I’m no fainting flower that you’re going to shock.”

Crowley sputtered out a laugh, and before he knew it he had his nightshirt whisked off and dropped to the floor. Tracy pressed her lips together firmly with a sharp inhale at seeing the extent of his battered body. Crowley ducked his head, feeling unaccountably ashamed but Tracy recovered quickly and clucked at him, shaking her head. 

“None of that love. It’s just dreadful is all, that anyone could be so terribly cruel. But we’ll get you hale and hearty in no time, just you see.” As she spoke she gently but firmly pushed him into the first bath he’d had since he was a boy. Baths were a luxury that were not for the likes of him as he usually had to make do with a cold wash basin and a coarse cloth. 

He dipped his foot in tentatively at first, then lowered his body into the steaming hot water with a groan of sheer pleasure. The feeling of being surrounded by the liquid warmth was _incredible_ , already soaking into all of the sore parts of his body. For all that it seemed like an impossible dream that he was actually staying in the palace, that there were staff _serving him_ , bathing in a large tub of gloriously hot water was one thing he suspected he could quickly get used to. 

Tracy allowed him to luxuriate in it for a time as he floated in a cloud of drowsy warmth, then said, “All right dearie, let’s get you washed up before you fall asleep again. I’m stronger than I look but I don’t think I could manage to carry you back to bed like I did when you were a wee lad.”

Crowley reluctantly blinked his eyes open and sat more upright so that Tracy could wash him, poo-poohing him when he tried to do it himself. He eventually gave up and submitted to the extraordinary experience of letting someone take care of him. His mind drifted, picturing with some amusement Tracy slinging him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes to get him back to bed. That thought sparked the faint edges of another memory… he could almost swear he could remember being carried tenderly in Prince Aziraphale’s arms, cradled against that strong chest, a press of lips on his forehead… probably something ridiculous his addled mind dreamed up when he was asleep, like that one about the rain. 

After he was cleansed to Tracy’s satisfaction she bade him to get out while she held a towel at the ready. 

“Take it slowly now my lamb, don’t stand up too quickly, nice even breaths, that’s it…” 

He had to lean on her much more heavily than he would have liked as they made it back into the bedchamber but she was a comforting presence at his side in the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Do you think you can sit up in a chair for a little while dearie? It’s not good for you to lie in bed all day. You’ll recover faster if you sit up and try to walk around some to regain your strength.”

Crowley took stock of himself. Although he was undeniably weak he felt like he had already slept for an eon and wasn’t actually sleepy. 

“Yes, I can try.”

She smiled at him in approval and pulled a clean linen nightshirt over his head that had magically appeared on the bed while Crowley was bathing. After he was settled on the chair she tucked a blanket around Crowley’s legs. 

Tracy began patiently combing out his wet hair as she chattered about inconsequential things. The annoying tendency of her brother to regale her endlessly with tales of his prize winning chickens— really, there was only so many times she should have to endure listening to the supposedly esteemed lineage of a Bearded D’Anvers Cockerel; it was a bloody chicken that was good for eating and not much else in her opinion. How it was woefully harder for her to climb the stairs in her little house in cold weather when her hip is acting up, she’s thought about moving to a one story place but her downstairs sitting room was so conducive for seances, she had no idea where she would find a better place, but perhaps she could look farther away…

Crowley let the words wash over him in a soothing wave. Ever since he woke up in the palace there was an edge of worry nagging at him as to what was in store for him in his future. He had known with certainty for so long that he would be in servitude until the day he died that he felt like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him and he was still trying to find his footing. He supposed that this was what Anathema had been so convinced about, about this new future of his, that he was to be married and in an impossible twist of fate have a respectable life. She was right, it had to be better than what he had, but although this prospect would have filled him with joy two months ago all he could manage now was a tired sort of relief that he wouldn’t be going back to his stepfamily. 

He shoulders slumped in resignation. He would just focus on getting though one day at a time. Perhaps the prince would still visit him as he was healing and he could wring every second of happiness from those encounters that he could to sustain him in his unknown future. Although he should definitely avoid ending up in the prince’s arms like he did last night. He couldn’t imagine what the prince had thought of that, having to hold him upright while he was semi-conscious like some fainting damsel in distress. 

He knew, even in his befuddled state, that he should have pulled away but it felt so unbearably, deeply _right_ to have the Alpha holding him, to have that floral sunshine scent surrounding him. He was barely able to stop himself from begging the prince to climb into the bed with him to keep those strong arms wrapped around him and wouldn't _that_ have been atrociously awkward.

Just as Tracy finished combing out the last tangle there came a knock at the door, then Prince Aziraphale poked his head in tentatively.

“Oh, come on in dearie!” Tracy sang out, apparently quite comfortable with forgoing formalities. “We’re all decent in here. Better luck next time eh?” she said to the prince with a saucy wink, who blinked at her.

She began gathering up the wet towels. “I’ll just go clean up the washroom, give you two dears a few moments to yourselves. Don’t do anything I would do!— hmm, although be fair that doesn’t leave much out.” she cackled as she bustled away.

Aziraphale watched her go, bemused. “Well. She’s certainly… something.”

“Yes she is,” Crowley said with an amused tone.

They shared mutual smiles, which faltered when their eyes caught and held for a long moment. The prince was the first to look away. 

“Ah, it’s so good to see you looking better dear boy. I was quite worried about you.”

Crowley plucked at the blanket on his lap. “Yes. I’m very grateful to you for your assistance. I don't know how I will ever repay you.”

The prince looked at him askance. “Repay me? I— you don’t…” he trailed off, looking upset. 

His blue eyes had something intense lurking in the depths of them that Crowley couldn’t interpret as the prince said “Ah, I suppose that— erm, well, we should probably discuss the wedding.”

Crowley tried to hide his wince. He didn’t think the prince would have been able to arrange for someone to marry him so soon. He concentrated harder on the cream colored knit blanket over his lap. His roaming fingers found a loose yarn. He really shouldn’t pull on it but his twitchy hands didn’t seem to agree and started tugging. 

He should probably ask the prince about who he had selected— but he had a physical reaction to the thought, his hand moving to his stomach that cramped in distaste at the idea of the man he desired more than anything in the world describing to him who his future spouse would be. 

“What about it?” he managed. 

Aziraphale’s voice was subdued as he asked “I… do you… have a preference for the decorations, food, ceremony? I… have some ideas, but am more than willing to hear what you would like.”

Crowley shook his head firmly as he wound the strand of yarn around his fingers, likely ruining the blanket but he couldn’t seem to be able to stop pulling. He didn’t want to talk or think about it. He wanted to pretend, for as long as he could, that this room was his new world, one where the prince was part of his world without the clock ticking against their time together like soundless painful beats against his heart, where he wasn’t about to have everything he knew and wanted snatched away from him. 

Yes, he was thankful to get away from his step family, but at what cost? Would his new spouse be kind, or indifferent? Cruel? Would he or she feel resentment at being saddled with an Omega? Would they have sea blue eyes that gazed back at him with bottomless depths, shining bright curls that begged to have his fingers run through it? 

He struggled not to cry again. He didn’t wish to appear ungrateful, when the truth of the matter was he should get down on his knees and thank his Highness for this wonderful opportunity. 

Despite his best efforts his voice shook as he said, “I don’t care. I’m sure whatever is decided will be fine.”

There was a heavy silence, then Prince Aziraphale abruptly stood turned and walked to the door. He opened it and without turning around said “As you wish. I shall not bother you more than absolutely necessary with the details.”

Crowley looked up in alarm at the prince’s stiff back and terse tone. Something was wrong, and there was a sudden spike of a sharp sour scent in the room. But before he could ask the prince what was bothering him Tracy came back, and as she was helping Crowley back into bed the prince left.

~*~*O*~*~

Tracy stayed with him during the day, and Jane at night, each diligently keeping after him to drink fluids, eat increasingly more solid food, and get out of bed, which Crowley grumbled at, not only because of the pain but also as he was luxuriating in the feeling of not having to get up to do chores for the first time since he was a young boy. 

Tracy was unapologetic. “None of that now dearie. It’s not good for you to lie down all day. I know it’s hard but you’ll recover much faster if you get out of bed and move your muscles.” 

Crowley was skeptical as it made much more sense to him to rest to recover but Tracy was firm about it, badgering him until he got up. As the days passed he began feeling much better, still not as strong as he once was but Tracy assured him that with gradually increasing activity and good food, as well as time to banish the last of the bruising on his body he’ll be “as fit as a butcher's dog” in no time. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant but he thought he got the gist of it. 

To his delight the prince came to see him faithfully every day. He seemed pleased to see Crowley and lavished praise on the progress he was making but Crowley would sometimes catch a shadow of unhappiness slide across his face before. Crowley supposed that it was likely the prince felt some amount of guilt or embarrassment about the situation considering the fact that he had once thought he would be marrying Crowley himself. Before, of course, he found out who Crowley really was. And he couldn’t blame Prince Aziraphale. Of course he wasn’t fit to marry a prince, no matter how much of a connection they had made at the balls. It just wasn’t meant to be. 

One afternoon after feeling as if he would go mad from continuing to be confined to the bedchamber any longer, Crowley decided to spend some time in the library. He deliberately avoided the couch by the fireplace where he and the prince had— well. Best not to think about that. Tracy helped pull an armchair over to the window so he could look out into the garden while he read and was enjoying the sunshine while skimming through a book on equestrian training when the door opened and he looked up to see Prince Aziraphale enter.

“Oh, there you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I’ve brought someone that you need to meet.”

Crowley’s smile that had started to spread on his face upon seeing the prince faltered at hearing the last of his words and seeing the tall well dressed Alpha coming in with the prince. Panic shot through him, grasping the core of his body in icy tendrils. Was this his future husband that the prince was bringing to introduce him? Despite the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach Crowley stood and bowed, trying not to lean too much on the back of the chair so that he could give a good impression of himself for the sake of the prince who looked between them with a pleased expression on his face. 

“May I introduce you to Master Harrington. Master Harrington, this is Lord Crowley.”

The alpha looked Crowley up and down in a manner that seemed measuring with an appreciative glint in his eye. He was handsome enough, in a lean angled way, with light brown hair streaked with gray swept away from his high brow and hazel eyes regarding him appraisingly. 

“Hmm. Well, turn around boy, let me look at you,” the other man commanded, making an imperious motion with his hand. 

Aziraphale’s brow drew down in a frown as he glared at the other Alpha. “I must insist that you show Lord Crowley the due respect he deserves sir.”

Master Harrington rolled his eyes, clearly uncowed. “If it pleases you Lord Crowley,” he drawled, “do me the honor of turning around.” 

Crowley looked at the prince uncertainly, who sighed and gave him a small nod. 

Crowley slowly turned around, uncomfortably aware of the scrutiny of both of the Alpha’s eyes upon him. 

“Well, what do you think?” Prince Aziraphale asked Master Harrington. 

Master Harrington pursed his lips and nodded decisively. “Yes. I think I can be persuaded.”

Crowley felt his face burn, struggling to retain his composure to hear them discussing his fate so casually, as if he was cattle they were discussing for acceptability to purchase. But when he saw the look of relief on Prince Aziraphale’s face that just about did him in and Crowley had to turn his head away, a savage agony piercing his heart. He would _not_ cry, not now, not in front of them. He had plenty of experience in hiding his emotions; he could hold it together until he could escape to the sanctuary of the bedchamber. 

“Oh, splendid!” Aziraphale said excitedly. “That’s settled then. Oh, Crowley, I can hardly wait to see what Master Harrington designs for you.”

“What?” Crowley said, looking up, startled. 

“Your clothes, of course, he’s—” the prince stopped, an embarrassed look coming across his face. “Oh! I forgot that you probably don’t know who he is, of course everyone among the nobility knows— erm, yes. Lord Harrington runs a tailoring business. He is the best and most sought after in the kingdom, and he is very selective about which clients he accepts, even among royals. And he has graciously agreed to design clothes for you.”

The relief that flooded Crowley was almost palpable, a rush that coursed through his body making his knees weak. He quickly reached out to tightly grasp the back of the armchair again in an effort to stay upright, and managed a genuine smile at Master Harrington. 

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance sir. Really, you have no idea.”

Master Harrington made a noncommittal noise as if unimpressed as to whether or not Crowley was pleased. He waved his hand and said, “My assistant will arrange to come for the measurements. Good day.” 

And then he abruptly turned and strode out of the room. The prince looked at Crowley apologetically. 

“Terribly sorry, he can be rather rude, but that is the price of genius perhaps.”

Still lightheaded with relief, Crowley sat down heavily and shook his head in what he hoped came of as an unconcerned manner, his emotions still a riotous tangle. “It’s all right. I can handle some rudeness, there’s worse things.” _Like being sold off in an arranged marriage._

He immediately chided himself for the ungrateful thought. He was beyond fortunate to have this opportunity for a better life and he would do well to remember that rather than pining after something he couldn’t have. 

Oblivious to the conflict in his head, the prince said, “Ah, I would love to stay and visit with you but I’m almost late for my meeting with the Small Council.” 

He hesitated, then said somewhat shyly, “I’m told you’re eating better. I was wondering if perhaps I could join you for supper?”

Crowley couldn't stop a wide smile from sliding across his face. “I’d like that.”

The prince’s answering smile was dazzling, making Crowley’s traitorous heart beat faster. “Lovely. I’ll see you then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The credit (or blame?) for inspiration of the scene with Mr. Harrington goes to Vios_Shadow._
> 
> _And for those of you who are happy that Tracy’s back (Chexpet, MoonFish11), I hope you enjoyed her non-nonsense caretaking; and all of her points are one thousand percent accurate by the way. And heh, I wrote orthostatic hypotension into a scene, go me. :)_
> 
> _Yes, I know, they’re both utterly daft. But they do it so well. :)_


	14. The Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank, you thank you for all of your wonderful kudos, comments and suggestions! I've been blown away by so many of your kind words and please do know that I appreciate them so much! ___

Aziraphale stormed out from a terse conversation with his mother. Yes, he had agreed months ago to represent the Crown at the Harvest Festival held at the East Midland Province, and yes, he agreed that it was important to show the populous at the edges of the kingdom that the Crown took an interest in their affairs, but why couldn’t his mother see that he couldn’t possibly leave now? It was a two day ride away by horseback, by carriage it would take even longer, which meant he would be away from Crowley for an _entire week_ , while he was still recovering from being hurt— he slammed the flat of his hand against the table, which only managed to prove that the table was quite a bit harder than his hand and that he was behaving like the tantruming child his mother had accused him of.

_“Oh, do calm down Aziraphale. I have been informed that Lord Crowley is not only not near deaths door but that he is recovering quite well. It will not do for you to shirk your responsibilities simply because you have this ridiculous notion that you can’t handle being away from him.”_

Aziraphale paused in front of the door to his bedchamber, attempting to compose himself before knocking, still quite displeased but resigned to going. He ran his hand over the latest courting gift he had found for Crowley. Every time he had tried to tentatively bring up the topic of their wedding Crowley gave the bare minimum response and was obviously unhappy about it, so Aziraphale quickly gave up on trying to talk about it. It tore at his heart, but Crowley still smiled when Aziraphale came to visit him, and seemed pleased at the courting gifts he brought, so he had hope that not all was lost, that he could win Crowley over with time.

A white silk cravat on one visit; _You deserve to have something elegant around your neck dear boy._ A slender book about poisonous plants; _Reminded me of the first time we met._ Flowers in a vase. _You mentioned that you enjoyed gardening, so I thought I would bring a little of the garden to you._ That one earned such a look of genuine delight that he wanted to impulsively fill every available surface of the room with flowers just to see it again.

Aziraphale was rather proud of his most recent find, and determinedly pushing his annoyance with his mother away, tapped on the door, eager to see what Crowley thought of it. He entered to see Crowley sitting up playing a board game of Fox and Geese with Tracy. Crowley grinned at him in the way that always made Aziraphale want to wiggle with delight as he threw his hands in the air, saying, “Ah, sorry to keep you from trouncing me yet again Tracy, but as you can see I’ve got a visitor. Completely unfair, I know, but a royal visitor takes precedence and all.”

“Hmm, yes,” Aziraphale said serenely, making a motion as if to turn. “Such a shame. Perhaps I should leave and come back after you’ve completed your game?”

“No, s’ all right,” Crowley said hastily, shaking his head and holding his hand out to forestall Aziraphale. “She can beat me any time, isn’t that right, Tracy?”

“Well,” Tracy sniffed, gathering up the game pieces, “Only by appointment, and not for the likes of you, my innocent little duck.”

“What?” Crowley said, blinking.

Tracy simply smirked and put the game away, busying herself with making the bed.

Aziraphale chuckled at Crowley’s confused expression. As he sat down in the vacant seat across from him it did occur to him to wonder how innocent Crowley was. If Crowley was a virgin that could certainly account for a lot of his hesitation to their upcoming marriage. And if that was the case then it would be Aziraphale's responsibility to slowly initiate him into the pleasures of the flesh… _that_ thought sent a pulse of coiling warmth between his legs and he firmly wrenched his thoughts elsewhere.

He held out the courting gift he had brought; a walking stick with a carved snake coiling up the length of the wood.

“I’ve brought you something to help you until you’re more steady on your feet.”

The smile on Crowley’s face faltered as he reached out to take the walking stick.

Although he quickly tried to act as if nothing was bothering him, of course the prince’s sharp eyes picked up on his expression. With a look of concern, Prince Aziraphale asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh— I, uh…” Crowley trailed off, looking at the object in his hands.

“Crowley?” The prince prompted gently.

Crowley's eyes flicked up to the prince, then away. “It’s nothing really, I was just reminded of— well, Ligur used his walking stick to beat me.”

Horrified, the prince said “I am so sorry, I’ll take it away at once my dear—” he said, reaching out to take it from Crowley’s hands.

Crowley held the walking stick closer to him reflexively. It was his, and the fact that the prince had given it to him made it precious. “No, no, it’s fine. You’re right, it will be helpful and it was thoughtful of you to think of it for me. It just reminded me of— that time.”

“Stop that—” Crowley said with a note of exasperation as he pulled it out of the prince’s hands trying to take it back from him. “I’m not so delicate that I’m going to be afraid of a blasted walking stick.”

The prince looked uncertain, but he reluctantly settled back down in his chair. He hesitated, and then said in a soft voice, “I was hoping you might be willing to tell me what your life was like, what you went through. You are under absolutely no obligation to tell me, of course, but I would be honored if you would share it with me.”

Crowley stared at him. He had never told anyone, not even the Pulcifier’s, what he had endured since his father died. What was the point? It would have just made him, and the other person feel bad, especially since there was nothing that could be done about it. But things were different now, and they had never fully talked about the circumstances that had brought them together. But considering it now, Crowley realized that he wanted to tell the prince, even if for no other reason than to make him understand that it wasn’t just a selfish fantasy that put him on the path of deception that had led them to meet.

For all that it was difficult to talk about his home— his former home— he amended, it was the least he could do for the man who had been far kinder to him than he deserved.

Still, it was hard to begin. He found himself leaning towards the prince, trying to get more of that calming sunshine scent before he started. As if understanding what he needed, the prince scooted his chair closer, shifting forward to the edge of his seat to be as close to him as he could manage.

After taking a couple of deep breaths, Crowley nodded. “My mother died when I was very young. I don’t remember her, and it was just me and my Papa for many years until he married my stepmother when I was five years old. That wasn’t bad, at first, but then Papa died a year later and things… changed.”

As he spoke the prince largely remained silent, with the occasional quiet question to clarify something. His brows drew down and his eyes flashed dangerously during parts of Crowley’s story but he seemed to be visibly trying to control himself and remain calm for him, although there were times he would make a small involuntary growl. At one point the prince reached out his hand and Crowley grasped it readily, grateful for something solid of the Alpha to hold onto.

When he finished the prince didn’t say anything at first, both of his hands now encasing Crowley’s and his thumb making slow slides over his knuckles. Although it was a relief to finally tell him everything he still felt uneasy, worried if knowing the full truth of his lowly background would bring him down in the prince’s regard.

“I’m sorry—” he began.

The prince's eyes flashed up to him. “You have _nothing_ to apologize for!” he said fiercely.

His emotions raw from talking about his past, Crowley flinched at his outburst. The prince immediately softened. “Oh, no my dear, I’m so sorry. I just meant that you are absolutely not to blame for any of what happened to you. No one deserves to be treated like that, least of all you and I am in awe of how strong you are to have handled it as well as you have.”

There was an earnestness to the prince’s words that confused Crowley. “I… don’t feel strong. I felt so powerless…” he tried to pull his hands away but the grip around his hands tightened to keep him in place. The gesture was so possessive that any words he could have said stuck in his throat as he was suddenly acutely aware of the Alpha so close to him.

The prince waited, then when Crowley seemed unable to say anything else focused on him with a razor sharpness that seemed to further flay him open, leaving his aching emotions exposed under that intense blue gaze.

“Being powerless does not make you weak. You suffered terrible losses followed by betrayal and abuse by those that should have cared for you and despite that you somehow managed to remain kind, gentle, more concerned about the well being of others than yourself, and in all a far more wonderful person than the so-called family you lived with. I seriously doubt I would have done so well had I been in your position and it breaks my heart that I somehow couldn’t have been there for you sooner.”

Crowley blinked, not really able to process the entirety of his words but was able to take in that the prince did not at all seem put off by his past and relief poured into him, soothing over the jagged edges of his emotions that still felt as if they were flayed open and exposed to the air. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to climb right into the Alpha’s lap, to feel those strong arms securely wrapped around him once again, to whisper sweet lies into his ear that everything will be all right, that he could stay with him and be protected by those arms forever...

This time when he tugged his hands away the prince let him, and he managed to give him some semblance of a smile as he lied, saying, “I’m getting tired.”

As he knew he would, the prince immediately said “Oh, of course my dear. I’ll leave so you can get some rest.”

The prince started to rise, then stopped with a grimace. “I almost forgot. I’m dreadfully sorry to tell you that I need to leave for an obligation I cannot get out of. I’ll be at the East Midland Province for their Harvest Festival which means I’ll be gone for about a week but please, if you need me do not hesitate to send for me and I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

Crowley was touched by the prince’s consideration for him. They had taken to eating dinner together regularly, and he felt a pang that he would miss out on their shared meals in the dwindling time they had left together at the palace. But of course he couldn’t expect the prince to always be available for him; it was extraordinary that he was kind enough to take as much time out of his busy schedule to visit Crowley as it was.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Have fun; eat something sticky and sweet and dance a jig for me while you’re there.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Dance a jig? Hardly,” he said in a dry tone.

“Not princely enough for you? Afraid your royal image will be tarnished if you look like you’re having fun?” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale snorted as he stood. “More afraid that I’ll fall flat on my royal arse for all of my subjects to gape at.”

“Think of it as the highlight of their season; I’ve heard there’s not nearly as much entertainment in the border towns as there is near the city. It’s either greased pig wrestling or their prince flailing about on the ground, and don’t you think your subjects would be thankful for a more noble form of amusement?”

The prince regarded him sternly with an amused twitch to his lips. “I’ll let you know when a position needs to be filled for a royal adviser. Or jester, perhaps. At that time I’ll be sure to give your suggestion the merit it deserves.”

His mock stern expression broke and he grinned at Crowley, his smile so bright that Crowley couldn’t help but feel as he was basking in the warm rays of it. Aziraphale walked to the door and then said “I’ll stop by to say goodbye before I leave. And… thank you my dear, for sharing with me.”

Crowley nodded with a shy smile. “Have a good time angel. Good night.”

~*~*~O~*~*~

During the prince’s absence Tracy declared him fit enough to walk outside, and he took to taking walks in the garden with increasing regularity. One day Tracy shooed him outside while she worked on cleaning the room, and he was admiring the roses, breathing in their fragrant scent, when he caught movement out of the side of his vision. He looked up and gaped, then swiftly dropped to one knee, his head bowed before the regal woman standing before him. She looked down at him impassively and made a gesture to her handmaiden.

“Leave us.”

Once the handmaiden left she said to Crowley, “You may rise.”

Crowley sprang up as if he was a marionette pulled by a spring at her words, compelled to obey the powerful Alpha even if it didn’t have the bite of command added to it. He regarded the Queen with mixed apprehension and curiosity. Her pale blonde hair was swept back from her face with artfully placed curls draped high on the back of her head. She was dressed somewhat casually for her status today, wearing a cream colored cotton dress with ivory lace at the elbows and square neckline.

“My son seems to be unwilling to bring you to me, therefore I find myself in the unusual situation of having to come to you.”

He had absolutely no idea how to respond to that, or why on earth she felt she needed to see him. She seemed to be expecting a response though, so he ventured to say, “I’m— sorry, your Majesty? If I had known you had wished to see me I certainly would have managed to make myself available for you.”

He winced; that came out far more pompous than he had intended. “Uh, I mean, I’m happy to see you. Anytime you’d like. Uh, now’s good for me, if it’s good for you.”

Thankfully she did not call attention to his verbal flailing, merely waited until he finally trailed off into silence, wishing that the ground would conveniently open up and swallow him whole.

When she seemed satisfied that he was quite finished, she commanded, “Walk with me,” as she began walking down the garden path. Crowley obediently fell into step beside her, casting sidelong glances at the powerful figure by his side but determined not to open his mouth unless absolutely necessary.

After walking down the length of a row of rose bushes, she said, “A royal’s duties are often very demanding. Contrary to what the common folk may think, it is not all fancy balls, glittering clothes, and entertainment. We must ensure the safety and well-being of our kingdom, and that means we must work to ensure that we have food available in times of drought, negotiate constantly changing treaties to continue trade routes, settle disputes, dispense justice as best we can and pray we were just in our decision, and navigate the Houses who jostle for position and favor; alternatively fawning over or trying to undermine us; and it’s not always clear which is their goal.”

She paused. Crowley struggled with the gargantuan task of wrestling some kind of intelligent response from his sluggish brain. Why was she telling him this? It made no sense, unless… sometimes it can be easier to unload your burdens to a stranger than a friend, perhaps that was it, perhaps she didn’t even have a friend to talk to…

With that thought the only thing he could think of to say was “That sounds… lonely.”

She glanced at him, a blonde eyebrow raised over clear pale blue eyes. “Perhaps it can be.”

She stopped, her long fingers reaching out to finger the broad sharp thorns on the stem of a large yellow rose. “My son will rule someday, and there are those that have concerns about how well suited he will be to the task.”

Crowley was no less confused as to the direction this conversation was taking but he couldn’t help but feel indignant on Prince Aziraphale’s behalf. “Why is that?”

She turned to face him and said directly, “He can be perceived as a weak Alpha, too kind, soft, and self-indulgent.”

A spark of anger flickered within him, overriding his earlier resolution to keep his mouth shut.

“Society’s assumption that if an Alpha shows kindness it makes them weak is wrong. Just because the prince doesn’t go around puffing out his chest and subjecting others to his dominance doesn’t make him weak, it makes him strong. The fact that he can control his nature and not let it rule him will make him a better ruler, a wonderful one in fact. My opinion may not account for much, but I would be proud to call him my King someday.”

He clamped his mouth shut, his cheeks flaming as he became suddenly aware that his voice had been rising steadily during his little speech— _to the Queen!_ — and he took a step back, bowing his head, barely managing to resist the impulse to drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness for his audacity. But the conviction remained firm within him that she was wrong about the prince, and he realized to his wonderment that his desire to defend the prince was stronger than his desire to submit to her. He managed to raise his eyes to see her regarding him with those clear pale blue eyes that seemed to see right into the depths of his soul. To his surprise she did not appear upset or shocked, she actually seemed pleased, a small smile at the edges of her mouth.

She opened her mouth to speak but then was interrupted by her handmaiden coming up to them on the path. She stopped close to them with a curtsy.

“Your Majesty. Gabriel has asked to speak with you before your meeting with the senior council.”

The Queen inclined her head and looked back at Crowley. “As I said, duty frequently calls.” She held out her hand to her handmaiden who pulled a small box from a pouch and handed it to her.

The Queen held out the box out to Crowley and said “I am glad that we had this opportunity to speak, however briefly. I will give my blessing to your marriage. It would please me if you wore this on your wedding day.”

He took the box and opened it. Nestled inside the white silk lining was a cravat pin in the shape of the royal House arms, the head in the shape of a circular green enameled laurel wreath with a pair of white wings arching out from the center. The comment and gift bewildered him; why would she have any interest in his marriage?

He managed a “Uh, thank you, your Majesty,” with a bow, hoping that was the right response.

And then she swept off, leaving him to stare at the pin bemusedly having no idea what just happened.

~*~O~*~

When Anathema and Newton came to visit him he greeted them enthusiastically, hiding his wince when Anathema hugged a little too hard against his still healing ribs. They sat down to tea in the garden.

They talked of how the horses were doing, of how strange it was to be staying at the palace; “I swear some of them must be able to read minds! I’ve barely had a thought fully registered that I might be hungry before one of them is offering to get me something to eat!”, and what sort of trouble Owen had been getting into. He had recently decided that it was great fun to take all of his clothes off at every opportunity and run around naked in the yard but then inexplicably dig in his heels and protest at great volume when it was time to get undressed for a bath.

After promising that of course he would go visit Owen as soon as he could, uncomfortably pushing aside the thought that he didn’t know if his new spouse would give him leave to do so, he cleared his throat, feeling a little anxious. “So, uh, have you heard that I’m to be married?”

Anathema grinned at him, reaching her hand over the table to cover his own. “Of course, silly. Everybody’s heard. Oh Crowley, I’m so very happy for you!”

Her enthusiasm took him aback, but he supposed that with the drama that happened between him and the prince at the last ball the story was all over the kingdom with all of the allure of the tawdry stories printed in ladies magazines.

“Oh. Well, I was thinking… I would normally be escorted down the aisle by the highest ranked Alpha in my family, but, well, you know. So I was wondering if, maybe, you would,” he said awkwardly, shifting on his seat.

“Oh, Crowley, I would be honored!” Anathema beamed at him. “Which colors should I wear?”

Crowley shrugged. “Oh, I dunno, I think you could wear whatever you’d like. But Prince Aziraphale seems to be taking a personal interest in making the arrangements, so you can ask him.”

She gave him an odd look and opened her mouth to say something but then they were interrupted by a servant announcing that the Master Harrington’s assistant had arrived to meet with Crowley.

As Crowley bade them goodbye Anathema caught his sleeve and said earnestly with a concerned look, “Crowley, if you don’t want this I’ll talk to the prince. You have a choice.”

Crowley smiled at her, touched. Anathema likely didn’t know the full reason why he was being married and he was embarrassed to enlighten her. He didn’t have a choice, not if it meant his only other choice was going back to the Morningstar House, and the longer he was away from that place, the more he realized he would do anything not to go back. Being married off was a small price to pay.

“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “I’m… happy.” And he was, he realized with a small flare of surprise. Yes, the encompassing yearning that he had for the prince still was there, but the heavy weight of oppression that had lifted from his shoulders made him feel lighter than he could ever remember feeling, almost as if he could fly. He didn’t know who he was meant to be, but he had the freedom now to find out. And he had Tracy back in his life who lavished just as much affection on him as she did badgering him to push himself, which he reluctantly admitted was another form of caring. And he thought that perhaps he also had Prince Aziraphale as a dear friend.

He hugged them goodbye, then went off to be measured in all sorts of places as he fought to keep a blush from his cheeks.

~*~O~*~

Crowley distracted himself as best he could during the prince’s absence but thoughts of the Alpha were never far from his mind. Apparently he had grown far too accustomed to the prince’s daily visits and keenly felt the lack of them, like seasoning missing from a dish, rendering it edible but lackluster. But finally the afternoon came that there was a familiar rat-a-tat-tat at the door and Crowley looked up from the book he was reading, his heart in his throat, to take in the sight of Tracy opening the door to admit Prince Aziraphale. _Gods golden rays_ but the prince looked so wonderful to Crowley’s starving eyes; even being a little rumpled from travel couldn’t take away from the gleam of his curls, the warmth in his eyes, and those lips stretched in a welcome grin that he wished he could trace with his fingers… Crowley forced himself to look away and place his book down on the table, standing up to greet the prince.

When he stood though, their eyes caught and held each other and it was as if time stood still.

Tracy looked between the two of them with amusement. She had been rather enjoying the spectacle of watching them make every effort to remain a proper distance from each other and avoid unseemly displays of affection as was proper before they were married, despite the fact that anyone with eyes could see what besotted fools they were.

Privately she thought it made much more sense to fully sample the wares before agreeing to marry someone; if she were ever to agree to limit herself to just one partner for the rest of her life you would bet her buttered biscuits she’d make sure to find out how tickling the lily went first.

But nobles had very firm ideas of decorum, and virtue, and other such nonsense. It seemed to her that if the prince and Crowley would just give in and ravish each other senseless it would help a great deal with the underlying awkward tension between them and they could relax with each other more, but she was only a servant, it was not for the likes of her to tell them otherwise.

Still, as she took in the way they were staring at each other in a manner that would cause the orchestra music to swell if they were on stage in a play about star crossed lovers she figured that it wouldn’t hurt to give a little push.

Tracy said, “I just need to step out for a tick to get fresh linens. I daresay I could use a nibble too, so I might not be back for a while.” Inexplicably she gave Crowley a saucy wink before she left, but he chalked it up to one of her many eccentricities.

Aziraphale nodded to Tracy absently and then when the door closed behind her he took a step forward and breathed, “It’s so good to see you dear boy.” After a long pause he looked down at something he was holding in his hands and held it out.

“While I was away I erm, came across this and thought of how lovely it would look holding back your hair.”

Crowley took it from him, his skin tingling where their fingers brushed against each other. It was a length of wide golden woven ribbon with thin bands of white running through it. The ribbon gleamed as he held it up in a shaft of sunlight to examine it.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful,” he said delightedly. “I can wear it now, we can see how it looks.” He pulled off the plain black hair ribbon that was holding his hair back and tossed it on the dressing table. He started to gather his hair back into a queue when he heard a soft, “May I?”

He turned and looked at Aziraphale in surprise, who was looking back at him steadily with bright eyes, his hands clasped together firmly.

“Oh, uh, of course.”

He sat down on the small bench in front of the dressing table and Aziraphale reached for the brush. He then began slowly running it through Crowley’s hair that was falling in waves just past his shoulders. When Tracy brushed out his hair she did it in quick efficient strokes that felt nice but was nothing like the slow hypnotic downward stroke of the brush in the prince’s hands, each glide through his hair sinking him farther into a languid half awareness. His eyes slid closed against the sheer pleasure at being groomed by the Alpha that threatened to send him to his knees in begging submission.

He was only faintly aware that eventually the prince set down the brush but continued combing his hair with his fingers. The feeling of those strong yet gentle fingers sliding against his scalp and then down to the ends of his hair called to something deep within the innermost core of his being that stirred and rose up, bringing with it a flush of arousal that he felt center in his groin, as his cock swelled heavily under his breeches. He supposed he should feel embarrassed, or try to hide his burgeoning erection but he couldn’t seem to manage the energy for either, trapped as he was in the lassitude of sheer pleasure of feeling the prince’s hands in his hair.

He felt his hair gathered at the back of his neck and fastened with the ribbon. Then the hands slid from the back of his neck to the sides and front of his throat, stroking the exposed skin.

“There. I was right, it looks beautiful in your hair.” There was a pause then, “You look beautiful.”

The prince’s voice was quiet, with a husky roughness to it that made a swirling electric current spark down his spine, making him shiver and arch his neck back, baring himself for the Alpha.

Those fingers continued to stroke his neck, then that intoxicating scent of floral sunshine was closer and Crowley breath hitched to a stutter as he felt the glide of lips replace the fingers on the side of his neck. The lips started out gently, almost reverently, a slide of skin against skin that left a trail of blazing sensation along its path and Crowley whined deep in his throat, needing more as his arm rose up and his hand found its way into the prince’s hair, sliding into soft curls and grasping onto him. The prince growled against his neck, surging that tingling electric heat forcefully outward so that the hairs on his arms stood on end and his cock to almost painfully surge into a full erection.

And with that the prince swiftly moved one hand to the side of Crowley’s head and the other to splay against his chest, grasping him firmly and possessively to press against him as he opened his mouth against Crowley’s neck, applying heated sucking kisses to the sensitive skin as Crowley gasped underneath the deliciously relentless onslaught.

Some part of him was astonished as to what was happening, even as he gave into the rolling tide of arousal and the desire to submit to the prince that had never abated and had only grown since the very first time they had met. He knew the prince seemed fond of him; he had been so kind to help him get well, and arrange for his upcoming marriage after all— the thought of his upcoming nuptials made his inner Omega whine unhappily in the corner of his mind. He couldn’t imagine wanting to have anyone else touch him the way the prince was touching him now, and the thought that once he was married he would be forever denied the lips on his neck, sucking and gently biting there with increasing fervor… He realized he could feel the prince’s own erection pressed firmly against his back and further proof that the Alpha desired him sent his instincts into overdrive.

He twisted around, blindly reaching for the prince and after a brief fumbling brought their lips together, which the prince willingly participated in, parting his lips readily with his tongue to possess him in yet another manner. Despite the passion there was still a tenderness evident in how the prince kissed him, as if he was something precious to be cherished, which caused something deep inside of him to ache even more with desire.

All Crowley could smell was the prince’s scent sinking into him, all he could feel was the mouth on his, the strong hands on his body until it was almost impossible to bear. He needed— he didn’t want his first time to be with a stranger on his wedding night, he knew with absolute conviction he wanted his first time to be with someone he yearned to submit to with every fiber of his being, who he had a biting fanged need to be joined to, who he knew would treat him gently but with a strength that threatened to drown him in helpless desire…

When the prince moved from his mouth down to his neck again he could feel the hand on his chest sliding downwards, down his belly, to the top of his thigh, dipping down further... his hips twitched forward in anticipation as Crowley gasped out, pleading desperately, “ _Please_ , angel. I’m yours. _Please_ , take me.”

Time came to a stop as the prince stilled. Crowley could feel the prince’s breath fast and heavy against his neck as the silence stretched out between them as he remained unmoving. Trembling with desire but uncertain at the change, Crowley opened his eyes and nudged his nose at the side of the prince’s head hopefully.

“I— I’m sorry my dear. Please, just give me a moment to control myself”

Crowley felt tears sting the back of his eyes. _No, no, please_. “But— it’s all right, I— I— want—”

The reply came back strained. “Yes, my darling, I do as well, very much. But it’s not proper. You deserve better than this.”

After a moment Aziraphale sighed and straightened up, pressing a brief kiss to Crowley’s lips. “I know that Tracy means well, but I’ll have to ask her to stay and be a proper chaperone so that we don’t get into this predicament again.”

He smiled fondly down at Crowley who was still stunned with the intensity of what had happened between them and battling the crushing weight of disappointment of having the Alpha refuse him.

“Oh, my dear.” he said softly. He gazed down at Crowley for another long moment and his eyes darkened. His head started to move down again but he caught himself, pulling away with a sharp exhale.

“Right then. I’m afraid that I'll need to freshen up from my travels and then I have to catch up on quite a lot of work that accumulated in my absence, but may I join you for supper?”

Crowley nodded dumbly, feeling something breaking deep inside of him as he watched the prince casually take a step back and smooth down his clothing and then glance in the mirror to run a hand through his mussed curls.

Another too brief kiss to the top of Crowley’s head, as if he didn’t just reject the desperate plea he had offered up to the Alpha with every part of his tattered heart. “Until tonight my dear.”

And then he was gone, leaving Crowley looking at himself in the mirror with despair.

Aziraphale closed the door and leaned against it, his forehead resting against the wood as his face stretched wide in a delighted grin.

These past weeks had been a juxtaposition of ups and downs. He was acutely disappointed that Crowley had no interest in the wedding preparations and it made his heart ache to know that the Omega was so unhappy about marrying him.

Also Crowley didn’t initiate any kind of physical affection, which Aziraphale found troubling. He was very much aware that the man was still healing, and they were almost always chaperoned as was proper, but unlike their previous times together at the ball there were no heated looks or lingering touches. In fact, if Aziraphale did brush up against Crowley, unable to resist the temptation of touching him, Crowley would immediately move away like a startled cat.

But at the same time Crowley always greeted him with a bright smile of what seemed like genuine happiness when he visited. Aziraphale lived for those visits, when he could get away from his royal duties along with the many added meetings with the Master of Revels to plan the wedding to his schedule.

Being away this past week had gnawed at him, and he had to focus on doing his absolute best not to be irritable and snappy at the very people he was trying to make a good impression with. But he reassured himself that next time Crowley could come with him and as he wandered  
among the venders at the Harvest Festival he imagined how lovely it would be to stroll arm and arm with him and discover what Crowley liked. What would he think of the delightful grilled pineapple skewers marinated in brown sugar and rum? Would he allow Aziraphale to kiss away the drips of tangy sweetness from his lips after he bit into it? Would he like the mosaic pottery that sparkled in the sun? The— a gleam of gold had caught his eye and he picked the spool of gleaming wide ribbon struck with wondering how it would look tied into a bow in Crowley’s sunset red hair. He eagerly bought a length of it and upon finally arriving home to the palace had rushed straight to see Crowley, enchanted with the idea of seeing if his musings were true.

And then— seeing Crowley wear Aziraphale’s House colors, even if it was only a strip of trim gleaming golden against that glorious hair, oh that liquefied his insides, set him on fire with the desire to claim his mate. And _finally_ Crowley unmistakably responded to him with the same passion he had too brief a taste of in their previous encounters at the balls. Every part of him was brought to an acute awareness of the man under his hands, cataloging every trembling shudder, every low gasping hitch of breath as he claimed that elegant neck arched so prettily for him in submission. His inner Alpha roared in satisfaction at having his Omega eagerly compliant underneath him and he had come dangerously close to forgetting their situation. When Crowley so sweetly begged for him to take him Aziraphale was brought abruptly back to the present, realizing that of course it would be entirely improper and disrespectful to Crowley to claim him before they were married, especially since the wedding was so close. He could control his baser instincts, damn it. It was incredibly hard to leave with seeing Crowley’s disappointed look, but removed himself from the room as soon as possible before he did something they would both regret.

He turned to walk to his temporary bedchamber to change clothes. The few servants he passed gave him an odd look as he was still grinning foolishly, but smiled back at him in response; the unmistakable happiness radiating from him infectious. He felt so happy to have proof that Crowley felt— well, not love of course, but some amount of affection and passion for him that he fervently hoped could grow into something more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Just LOOK at the astonishingly wonderful artwork that[Phantomstardemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantomstardemon/pseuds/Phantomstardemon) drew for one of my favorite scenes in this story! I'm just beside myself with delight!!_
> 
> _I couldn't resist creating an image of the cravat pin the Queen gifted Crowley and the walking stick Aziraphale gave Crowley._
> 
> _A special thank you to MJ_Riedle who graciously let me fret at her about ideas for this chapter (check out her fantasy style Good Omens story[A Royal Tale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25943254/chapters/63061201)), and Calisto112 for suggesting a bit of mischievousness from Crowley that I'm sure was inspired by Tracy._
> 
> _I know that you all are probably ready to throw rotten fruit at me but I swear by everything shiny that I did not originally intend to drag this particular part out so long. But then the story practically took on a life of its own so you’ll have to put up with it juuuust a little while longer. But the moment you’ve all been waiting for is coming up very soon!_


	15. The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _GUYS!!!! I have to Muppet Flail wildly at you because the amazingly awesome[Aikosakura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aikosakura/pseuds/Aikosakura) (Twitter: Hirumagal, Instagram: Aikosakura15) offered to create artwork for Cinders!!! It’s magnificent and I’m so very touched and flattered that they were inspired to create art for my story. See the artwork below._
> 
> _Thank you dear readers once again for your enthusiasm and support for my story; it is truly a sparkling spot in this difficult year and I am very, very appreciative of you all._
> 
> _And finally, the moment you all have been waiting so patiently for…_

Crowley silently looked in the long oval mirror after Tracy had finished dressing him. It was by far the finest garments he had ever worn, and he had to admit that Master Harrington certainly knew his business. The frock coat and breeches were made of black velveteen with a diamond shaped weft pattern. The tailored coat elongated the lines of his lean frame, cutting away to reveal snug breeches showcasing his muscular thighs. The edges of the coat were trimmed with wide heavy embroidery in silver thread wrought in a stylized floral pattern with— he looked closely, fingering the stiff raised threads— _snakes_ , of all things, woven throughout the broad leafy shapes. Seemed like an odd choice to him, but what did he know about the fashions of the nobility? Instead of the wide clunky sleeves currently in favor among the nobility his were tapered along his arm which added to the overall effect of lean elegance. His waistcoat was dark crimson velveteen, shining against the midnight darkness of the coat. The winged cravat pin the Queen had given him nestled against the folds of his gleaming white silk cravat which complemented the white lace at his wrists.

Tracy had started to tie a black velvet ribbon in his hair that matched his ensemble, but he had stopped her, instead having her use the wide golden ribbon the prince had given him. It didn’t match, but he foolishly wanted to carry some part of the prince with him to his wedding. As he watched her tying it into place he was reminded of what happened the last time he wore it, and although he still wished with every fiber of his being that the outcome of that encounter had been different, feeling like he had a small token of the prince’s affection on him gave him some amount of comfort to try to help settle the feeling of hollow dread in his stomach.

He had never looked finer, the very image of the noble young lord he could hardly believe he was. He surmised that he must be marrying someone of the nobility due to how fancy the clothes he had been given were. He wasn’t sure how the prince had managed to pull that one off, as he was a penniless Omega, but perhaps he had used his influence to make the match more enticing with promises of royal favors. Oh, well. It didn’t matter. Even though he felt like his heart was breaking he was determined to try to be grateful for his new life, be appreciative and submissive, do his best to be a good husband to his future spouse and hope for the best.

A small sigh involuntarily escaped him. If only he could have convinced the prince to be with him for one night he could have had that golden memory to sustain him throughout whatever might lie ahead… he shook his head sharply against the sting in his eyes that regret caused. No sense in wallowing in wishful thinking. He pulled back his shoulders determinedly. He would be worthy of this gift of a good match the prince had provided for him and would make him proud.

Too soon, it was time to go and he was escorted to the front of large ornately carved closed double doors where Gabriel and Anathema were waiting. Gabriel was dressed formally in the white and gold colors of the royal House while Anathema wore a ball gown in black silk floral damask, a woven silver belt at her waist, ruffled lace at her square neckline and wider lace at her elbow length sleeves that draped elegantly downwards. Her bodice was a dark red floral damask, and she wore a tall lace headdress that reminded Crowley of a rooster’s comb, which he would never dare tell Anathema but the amusing thought helped him manage to muster up a smile for her.

“You match me,” he said.

“Of course I do, silly,” she replied, coming up to give him a hug. He breathed in her comfortingly familiar scent of blackberries and juniper, which helped soothe some of the anxiety rolling beneath his numb surface. He held onto her when she began to pull away, unwilling to part from her comforting presence, and she tightened her arms around him reassuringly.

“Will you still come visit me, after?” he whispered against the dark hair piled high on Anathema’s head.

She drew back and looked at him with a smile. “Of course I will. A fancy title isn’t going to keep me from you,” she said teasingly.

Ah. So he was going to be marrying someone of high status. He resigned himself further with sinking dismay to the idea of a loveless union. Marriage within the nobility was seldom known for love between spouses, as they were arranged for practicality, not compatibility. And despite everything that had happened to him, he knew as absolutely as he knew that the sun would rise with the dawning of each day that he had so much love to give...

As he heard orchestra music swelling on the other side of the door he felt himself teetering uneasily on the edge of his new unknown future.

Gabriel said briskly, “It’s time. Lady Pulcifier, you will stand to his right. Remember, slow even paces like we discussed.”

Crowley put his arm through Anathema’s and took a deep breath as Gabriel gestured to the waiting servants who opened the doors wide. They were at the end of a huge ornate room, the walls and ceilings covered in white marble and embellished with gilded stucco everywhere he looked. The gold carpet runner down the middle of the aisle seemed to stretch on forever as he numbly took in the huge mass of people who rose as one and turned to look at him.

 _Just breathe_. Terror suddenly seized him, an icy flash seizing his insides that _hurt_ with a crackling, wailing sensation and for the first time he regretted not asking to find out what type of person he would be marrying.

He turned to Anathema and asked urgently, “Tell me— my betrothed— do you know if he or she is kind? Are they good to their servants?”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gabriel turn his head sharply as Anathema looked at him in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

“I just— I’m sure the prince has arranged for a good match for me but I— I just hope that maybe someday they might care for me—” he said pleadingly. He knew the words were tumbling out of his lips far too late, that he couldn’t change anything, but he just wanted to grasp onto a small scrap of reassurance to keep the panic he felt rising inside of him at bay.

The look on Anathema’s face changed from bewilderment to outright astonishment, her mouth gaping open as she stared at him.

“ _What?!_ How is it _possible_ that you don’t know who you are marrying?! _Crowley_ —”

She was cut off by Gabriel interjecting, “Everybody is waiting, you need to start walking _now_.”

Anathema sputtered, “But wait, I need a moment to talk to—”

But Gabriel cut her off, a hand firmly placed on both of their backs. “Oh no you don’t, you’re out of time, it’s time to _go_ ,” he said, pushing them forward. He shook his head in disbelief, a rare amused smile sliding across his normally stern face. “I’m going to go to my grave laughing about this.”

Anathema still protested, resisting. “No, we can’t—”

Gabriel firmly pushed harder, hissing, “Start _walking_! I’ll drag you up there by the ears if I have to, you are _not_ going to make a scene.”

Anathema opened her mouth but Crowley hastened to reassure her, feeling a stab of regret that he had distressed Anathema by bringing up his foolish worries at all. “It’s all right, never mind, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Please, don’t worry.”

Dark eyes wide with something anguished in them, Anathema hesitated, then reluctantly turned to face forward. And then Crowley found himself walking down the long aisle, numbly noting richly robed nobles on either side of them that bowed or sunk into deep curtsies as they passed, adding to the increasing sensation of altered reality.

He stared down at the golden carpet beneath his feet strewn with swirls of white and red rose petals to try to ground himself as each step took him closer to his fate. The orchestra music swelled around them, the sound amplified by the high arched marble ceilings.

After what felt like an eon of slow steps under the silent weight of the stares of the guests they finally reached the end of the aisle where they stopped. Crowley took a deep breath and finally raised his eyes to see his future spouse. To his confusion he saw Prince Aziraphale standing on the dias above him, resplendent in formal white and gold. What was he doing there? Crowley looked past him, searching, but the only other person on the dias was a elderly priest in heavily ornate robes.

The music stopped and silence filled the room. The priest’s voice rang out.

“Who gives this man into the bonds of Holy matrimony?”

“I do,” Anathema’s voice replied strong and clear.

“Bind his hand with the hand of his intended as a symbol of your confirmation of their union.”

And then impossibly Prince Aziraphale was stepping down towards them, his hand outstretched as it was at the last ball, the same radiant smile on his face that dazzled brighter than the gilded decorations around them.

Anathema disengaged their arms and lifted Crowley’s hand so that the prince’s hand slipped easily into his own, a warm solid presence that he automatically clutched his fingers around, seeking reassurance in a world suddenly gone mad.

With his other hand the prince held out something to Anathema and Crowley looked down dazedly to watch her winding a ribbon around their joined hands— the very same gold and white ribbon he had tying back his hair. After she finished she stepped away, flashing a concerned look to him before going to a seat in the front row.

Prince Aziraphale turned as if to go back up to the dais and paused when he realized Crowley wasn’t moving with him, still staring at the ribbon wound around their hands trying desperately for things to make sense. A gentle voice cut through the stunned blank fog in his mind, pitched low for his ears only.

“I know it’s all rather a lot to take in my dear. Just focus on me, we’ll get through this together.”

Crowley slowly dragged his eyes up to the prince’s sleeve heavily decorated with thick gold couched embroidery in a wide floral pattern, with wings worked into the design. His eyes traveled up the white velveteen frock coat, to the gold brocade waistcoat, and up to the white cravat where he recognized his very own onyx snake tipped cravat pin that he had assumed was forever lost the night of the last ball. Seeing Aziraphale wearing that small symbol of Crowley’s, of how they had met finally made his disbelieving brain realize that the one thing he had secretly, desperately wished for with all of his aching heart was somehow, impossibly, inconceivably, coming true.

His eyes moved up further still, to see for the first time nestled among bright curls a gold coronet. Diamonds set into the metal glittered as the prince tilted his head slightly. Crowley’s eyes finally traveled down to the prince’s face and he realized that his smile had faded, a look of worry and maybe… hurt?— lurking in the depths of those ocean blue eyes.

Crowley squeezed the hand in his reflexively, automatically wanting to chase away that hurt, and the prince squeezed back. The prince’s expression changed to one of tentative hope as he gently tugged on their hands, and Crowley followed the pull of the Alpha, stepping forward with him as if in a dream, climbing the steps of the dais until they came to a stop in front of the priest, facing each other.

Prince Aziraphale’s eyes never left his as the priest droned on, the words a faint buzzing in his ear that he couldn’t possibly manage to focus on. All Crowley could see was the man standing before him, gazing at him as if he was the only thing that mattered in the entire world. At some point the priest unwound their hands, then handed each of them a glass of wine, white for the prince, red for Crowley, and said something that he imagined was quite meaningful about their Houses joining as one but he still couldn’t concentrate enough to understand more than a few occasional words. He watched the prince pour his wine equally into the two empty glasses the priest was holding and then looked at Crowley expectantly. Hoping he was doing what he was supposed to, he poured his wine into the glasses with trembling hands as well, and since no one glared at him in disapproval he imagined that he had done it right. The prince handed one of the glasses to him, took the other, and encircling their arms, took a sip of the wine. Crowley belatedly realized that he was supposed to do the same and after a beat took a drink, automatically swallowing the liquid without really tasting it.

Then the wine glasses were whisked away by a white and gold clad servant, the priest droned on some more, and then a small sandy haired boy came up to them holding aloft a heavily embroidered golden pillow. The prince took the rings from the pillow then turned back to Crowley, taking his left hand in his own and speaking in a voice that rang out in the cathedral.

“With this ring I take thee to be my wedded husband, forsaking all others, keeping only to you as long as we both shall live. It is my solemn vow to cherish, honor, and protect you all the days of my life.”

As he spoke he slid the ring onto Crowley’s finger, a simple wide gold band that gleamed against his skin. He gave a brief squeeze to Crowley’s hand, his thumb sliding against his knuckles in a way that somehow felt proprietary, as if by placing his ring on Crowley’s finger he somehow placed his brand on him, staking his claim in a way that something deep within Crowley recognized and answered to; a surge of need to answer the Alpha’s silent call thrumming through him.

Aziraphale placed the other ring onto Crowley’s palm, the band of silver metal feeling oddly heavy as he picked it up with trembling fingers.

The priest murmured, “With this ring…”

Crowley held the prince’s fingers with shaking hands as he said, his voice cracking with emotion, “With this ring…”

The priest prompted “I take thee to be my wedding husband…”

Crowley’s mouth worked as he tried to make sound come out of it. He looked up, panicked, into the prince’s eyes who looked back at him steadily, warmth emanating from their depths. He struggled to speak but his throat tightened, the large room suddenly feeling too small. The prince’s hand held loosely in his own turned to cradle Crowley’s hand tenderly, reassuringly, and Crowley took a step closer to the prince without thinking about it, leaning forward to inhale the scent of floral sunshine. He apparently was taking too long to respond and became more aware of his surroundings when he heard the priest clear his throat pointedly. Crowley told himself that he could do this for the Alpha waiting so patiently for him, for his Alpha he suddenly realized with shocking clarity.

 _Just breathe_. He took another breath of Aziraphale’s scent to steady him and then straightened, his voice ringing out strong and true as he slid the ring onto Aziraphale’s finger.

“With this ring I take thee to be my wedded husband, forsaking all others, keeping only to you as long as we both shall live. It is my solemn vow to cherish and honor you all the days of my life.”

Prince Aziraphale smiled at him fiercely, his hands curled tightly around Crowley’s, looking as if he was barely managing to restrain himself from pulling Crowley to his chest.

The priest said some more words that Crowley paid no attention to, then he caught, “... kiss to seal the union.”

Strong arms encircled him, then there was a firm but chaste press of lips against his own. Before Crowley could blink the lips were gone and the priest said something else that he completely ignored, as the only thing in the world that mattered to him was the Alpha standing before him. Then a pale eyebrow arched at him, the prince’s eyes flicking downwards meaningfully. Puzzled, Crowley followed his eyes down to see a small ornate pillow embroidered with the arms of the royal House had appeared at his feet.

“Kneel, my dear,” the prince whispered.

Absently wondering what was going to happen next, Crowley knelt, looking up at the prince. This felt oddly soothing, grounding somehow, to be kneeling at the prince’s feet and he got a sense that perhaps the prince felt something similar as something flashed in those blue eyes as he looked down at him, something deeply satisfied and possessive in a way that caused Crowley’s toes curl in his shoes and made him want to lean forward and press his cheek against the wide thigh in front of him.

After another moment of the priest’s droning the prince broke their steady gaze and turned to take something from the priest. He then leaned towards Crowley, who felt the weight of a coronet settle on his head. The prince held his hands out to help Crowley to his feet, then they were turning to face the array of guests, all on their feet in resounding applause and cheers. The prince then placed Crowley’s hand on top of his arm and led him down the steps of the dias. As they stepped down Crowley caught a glimpse of the Queen at the front row looking resplendent in a gold satin gown, and she inclined her head regally to him as he caught her eyes. Then they were walking down the aisle and out through the large double doors.

The prince suddenly grabbed his hand and darted to the side, pulling Crowley along with him. He was reminded of their run in the maze as the prince pulled them into a run into a side room, then out a door on the other end, down a short hallway and then into a small room that appeared to be an empty sitting room. As the prince closed the door behind them he paused to catch his breath, his eyes bright as he said with a tinge of laughter, “They’re expecting us at the feast, but they can wait. I simply _must_ have you all to myself for a little while.”

And with two quick strides he crowded Crowley against the back of the door, his mouth hot against his as he pressed hard up against him. Crowley helplessly, instantly responded, his arms rising up around the prince and meeting his mouth passionately. But then it was too much, all of his overwhelmed instincts and whiplash of feelings and the shock of what just happened, of the prince _marrying_ him— he pushed at Aziraphale, who instantly broke off.

“I’m sorry my darling, am I going too fast for you? We can slow down, whatever you need.”

Crowley choked back a sob as he stared at the prince looking at him with an exquisite tenderness that threatened to further undo him.

“You can’t marry me!” he gasped out.

“I rather think that ship has sailed my dear,” Aziraphale said dryly. Then he looked troubled as he took in Crowley’s panicked expression and asked, “What’s wrong?”

_What’s wrong?! Let’s start with the fact that I’m somehow married to the Crown Prince, who felt forced to marry me because he’s so kind that he thought it was the only way to protect me. And let’s not forget that he hates the thought of being saddled with an Omega…_

But he couldn’t manage to find the breath for any of those words as he had an increasingly difficult time breathing at all, gasping in short pants, dizzy as he heard the prince’s alarmed voice as if from far away…

“Crowley, my dearest, I need you to breathe for me.”

He clutched at the white velvet clad shoulders in front of him, his vision going dark at the edges as he shook, struggling with ragged gasping.

The prince’s voice whipped out with command. “ _Crowley_ , listen to the sound of my voice. I’m going to count to three and you are going to breathe slowly in and out with me. You can do it my love, here we go. Breathe in, _one, two, three_. Breathe out, _one, two, three_. Breathe in, _one, two, three _…”__

His Alpha’s command pulled at him to comply, and he shakily took slower breaths as Aziraphale counted. Aziraphale pulled him closer so that his head rested against his shoulder; the stiff metal embroidery rough against his cheek. He tried to nestle in closer to Aziraphale’s neck as his breathing slowed closer to normal but the high stiff collar was in his way and he whined unhappily.

Aziraphale seemed to understand and he gently pushed Crowley back and swiftly pulled off his coat, letting the fine garment drop heedlessly to the floor as he reached for Crowley again, pulling his head to his neck. Crowley nosed into the skin just under Aziraphale’s ear, breathing in his scent as his racing heart finally settled down. Strong arms held him close against the comforting solid form.

After an indeterminate amount of time had passed Crowley said wretchedly, “M’ so sorry angel.”

Aziraphale’s arms tightened around him. “Nothing to be sorry for my dear boy. You were overwhelmed is all, perfectly understandable. It’s I that owes you an apology, It was poorly done of me to jump on you like I did, like a bloody mindless dog,” he said with a note of regret to his voice. “I swear I will try to do better, to be a more worthy husband for you.”

Crowley didn’t have the energy to correct him, that he wasn’t apologizing for what he supposed was a panic attack, he was apologizing for making Aziraphale feel like he was forced to marry him. _They were married_.

He slowly lifted his head to look at Aziraphale in stunned wonderment. “You’re my husband.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale smiled at him. “And you’re my husband.” He reached up and cupped Crowley’s cheek tenderly. “I want nothing more than to keep you all to myself, but we do have a few more duties tonight. I hate to have to ask, but do you think you’re up to me showing off my gorgeous new husband for while longer? I promise that we can leave as soon as we’ve completed the bare minimum that is required of us.”

Feeling as though he would walk barefoot through the fires of Hell for this man he nodded. Aziraphale searched his face, then after a last caress of his thumb against Crowley’s cheek bent down to pick up his coat and put it on. He then grasped Crowley’s hand and said, “Well then. Into the breach we go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yup, I totally did it, I tortured poor Crowley up until the moment he walked down the aisle. Goodness I had so much fun with that. Also, I updated the chapter count from 18 to 22 chapters; it might even end up being even a little longer; we’ll see. (I couldn't stop thinking, but what happens after Cinderella marries the prince?)_
> 
> _RangerHorseTug: I wish I could have used your truly excellent ideas, but I added the bit about Gabriel in this chapter just for you. :)_
> 
> _Umbreon: you were the first to nail when Crowley would find out who he’s marrying, I hope you don’t hurt yourself laughing too hard._
> 
> _RosiePaw: yep, you were spot on as for the first part of it; there’s more to come._
> 
> _Vios_Shadow: I’m thrilled that you noticed the cravat pin went missing at the 3rd ball… here’s where it finally turned back up!_


	16. The Reception

Aziraphale led Crowley to the banquet hall, where servants at the door scrambled to attention upon seeing them, one of them announcing loudly as they entered the room, “All rise for their Royal Highnesses, Crown Prince Aziraphale Angelus and Prince Anthony Crowley!”

_That_ caused another jolt in Crowley, who would have thought it impossible that any more shocks were in store for him tonight. Aziraphale must have felt him jerk in their joined hands, for he glanced at him and squeezed his hand reassuringly. With the words _Prince Anthony Crowley_ still ringing in his ears he let Aziraphale lead him to the high table, where the Queen was sitting. Aziraphale stopped to the Queen's right and raised the glass of wine on the table in front of him, facing the expectant sea of faces turned towards him.

“Thank you for joining us in celebration of this joyous union between our two Houses. Now join us in feasting, merriment, and— drinking!” A roar of approval met his words and then with a rustle of movement everyone sat, music started playing from the small orchestra in the corner of the room, and the murmur of voices and clatter of utensils against dishes started to fill the room. As soon as they sat down, gloved hands appeared with bowls of soup that were set in front of them.

Crowley slowly picked up the soup spoon and stared at it for so long that Aziraphale fretted something must be wrong. Did he not like soup? Maybe he should have brought up the subject of the menu, but Crowley had been so adverse to discussing any part of the wedding… but to his surprise Crowley chuckled under his breath, shaking his head and then dipping his spoon into his soup to take a bite.

Relieved, Aziraphale murmured, “Is there something amusing about the soup?”

Those beautiful golden eyes slanted towards him, a small smile lightening them so they shone. “It just reminded me of what a strange yet wonderful friend Anathema has been to me.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrow in query, and was thrilled when Crowley’s hand covered his and squeezed lightly.

“I’ll tell you the story some other time.”

Aziraphale nodded, his heart in his throat. “I look forward to it,” he said, looking down at their hands. Crowley followed his gaze and looked a little surprised to see their hands joined. He blushed slightly and took his hand away, turning back to apparently concentrate on his soup.

Feeling a little bereft that Crowley pulled away again, Aziraphale consoled himself that the Omega wasn’t used to public displays of affection, and well, probably any displays of affection. He resolved to try his best to go slow, to progress their relationship at a pace that would gradually get Crowley used to the change. He longed for the day they could touch each other without reservation or hesitation but suspected that would take some time.

Suppressing a sigh, he ate a spoonful of his soup, relishing the creamy mushroom flavor even as he watched Crowley closely out of the corner of his eye. He had finally married the magnificent creature by his side. Even though it was only a few short weeks since he had carried Crowley into the palace in his arms, it had felt like forever, especially with the threat of Duchess Lucia claiming she had the right to demand him back. Crowley belonged to him, and his inner Alpha bristled and snapped and growled at any other possibility. Crowley was also his own person, he told his Alpha instincts firmly. He was not a thing to be owned, or bartered, no matter what the antiquated norms of Society believed.

He had extremely reluctantly given the Morningstar House a groom-price for Crowley as Gabriel had suggested as he didn’t want to risk anything that might jeopardize the proceedings. But he had firmly drawn the line at sending a wedding invitation to anyone from that household, an insistence that horrified the Master of Revels who was handling the wedding preparations.

That afternoon as he was doing his final preparations for the wedding, he had just settled the coronet onto his head when the Master of Revels walked into the room urgently.

“You Highness, the Morningstars are at the entrance. Although they don’t have an invitation as you instructed, Duchess Morningstar is quite insistent that it was a mistake and they must be allowed entry.”

Aziraphale smiled coldly. He had rather hoped that they would have the audacity to try to come to the wedding and he took great pleasure in saying, “Under no circumstances are they to be allowed in. Do send the Captain of my Guard out to deliver the message from me.”

Wide eyed, the Master of Revels hesitated, then bowed and left the room briskly.

He took some bitter satisfaction out of the fact that it would not go unnoticed by the rest of the nobility that the Morningstar’s were absent from the wedding which had a high likelihood of them losing some of their social status. And Gabriel had another good point; now that Crowley was safely married to him, he could turn his attention to thoughts about what could be done about the Morningstar House.

He had delayed the wedding only as long as the physician felt that Crowley’s bruises would fade and so that he had the strength to remain upright and didn't faint dead away during the process. Although the way Crowley had looked at him as Aziraphale had descended the dais during the ceremony, his face drained of what little color he had, made him worry that he had misjudged the amount of time that Crowley needed. The poor man looked absolutely stunned, and it was all Aziraphale could do to restrain himself from gathering him up in his arms and whisking him away from all of the glittering pomp and stares of the nobility. But he was so proud when Crowley persevered, even after the awkward moment when he thought he might not manage to say his vows.

And when Crowley had finally gathered himself and lifted his head to look into Aziraphale’s eyes he felt as if he was ensnared all over again by those golden bottomless depths, every word clearly and firmly falling from his mouth like tiny golden arrows that landed to sink into his heart with an aching warmth, _I take thee to be my wedded husband, forsaking all others, keeping only to you as long as we both shall live_.

God, just remembering Crowley saying those words to him gave him a little shiver of delight, which caused Crowley to look over at him in question. He smiled back reassuringly.

As the various courses were brought out he watched Crowley take small bites at various intervals, mostly pushing the food around on his plate. Aziraphale worried, but let him be. It was certainly understandable if Crowley didn’t have much of an appetite, he was obviously stressed and overwhelmed. He longed to take his Omega— _his!_ — he exulted— back to the sanctuary of their bedchamber to provide comfort and care for him, but that would have to wait just a little longer. The excitement of the day had sparked a ravenous hunger in his own belly however, so he tucked into the food with great enthusiasm.

After the main course was served and Aziraphale had eaten about half of his meal, savoring the roast beef which was so tender it hardly needed a knife to cut it— he must remember to send his compliments to the chef— when Gabriel came up behind them and leaned down.

“It’s time to make the rounds to the tables, your Highnesses.”

Aziraphale looked down at the remainder of his meal rather mournfully but conceded that yes, once again, duty came before pleasure.

“Yes of course.” He stood and held his hand out to his husband, the new title still making him feel a bit giddy. “Shall we, my dear?”

Crowley gave him a smile that was small, but held a reassuring warmth as he nodded and took his hand.

As they made their way to the first table Gabriel murmured, “I’ll be sure to tell you the names of the heads of the Houses as we approach so that it’s clear who you are engaged with. Perhaps I should also announce your name so there is no confusion?”

Aziraphale looked at him askance. Although it was common for an advisor to whisper the names of the lords as they approached royalty to make for a smooth conversation, it would be ridiculous to think that the lords wouldn’t know who their prince was.

“I hardly think they won’t know who I am.”

Gabriel shrugged, an odd smirk on his face. “Oh, you never know, your Highness. Merely a suggestion to ensure clear communication all around.”

Aziraphale frowned, having the definite sense that the advisor was needling him about something but quite missing what he was going on about. Feeling annoyed that Gabriel was acting like his usual prat self on his wedding day, he said sharply, “The usual advance information about names as we approach will be sufficient.”

Gabriel’s expression of thinly veiled amusement didn’t change as he said, “Of course, your Highness.”

They made their rounds to the tables, Gabriel obediently murmuring the names of the heads of the Houses as they rose to genuflect and express their well wishes for the newlyweds. Crowley mostly remained silent, responding politely but minimally to comments.

After Crowley bowed back to the nobles at the first table they visited Aziraphale told him as they made their way to the next table, “You don’t need to bow to anyone but the Queen now my dear.”

Crowley looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Really. You’re a prince now.” Aziraphale said with a smile.

Crowley blinked, staring at Aziraphale as if somehow that had never occurred to him.

Aziraphale took his hand and squeezed it. “I can only imagine how strange this must feel to you. It’s all right for it to take time to get used to.”

Crowley huffed out a small laugh as he looked away, shaking his head. “Oh, you have _no idea _how strange this all is.”__

Aziraphale brought their joined hands together to press a reassuring kiss to Crowley’s knuckles. “Just a little longer my darling, and then we can sneak away.”

When they completed the rounds at the tables Gabriel said, “The dance is next. Prince Anthony, shall I fetch you a copy of the wedding invitation so that you can verify for yourself that your first dance partner will be your husband, Prince Aziraphale?

Crowley looked at Gabriel sharply, a tinge of red staining his cheeks. Anger spiked in Aziraphale. It was one thing for Gabriel to needle Aziraphale; but it was quite another for him to try to make his mate uncomfortable in whatever idiotic game he was apparently playing. He snapped, “That is _quite_ enough of your games, Gabriel.”

Resolving to ignore the insufferable advisor, he turned to Crowley and smoothed out his expression, bowing with a flourish and holding his hand out. “If I may have the honor of a dance?”

Crowley looked at him and finally gave him a real smile, the look of warm fondness lightening the lingering anxiety he had for the Omega. He took his hand and allowed Aziraphale to lead him to the ballroom, the guests following. Aziraphale drew Crowley to the side, sliding his arm around his narrow waist protectively as the ballroom filled with guests shuffling to the outside edges of the dance floor. As the last of the guests entered Aziraphale placed Crowley’s hand on top of his and led him to the center of the room.

Facing his— _husband!_ — he crowed to himself in delight— he gathered Crowley into dance position and waited for the music to start. As they started moving in slow circular turns Aziraphale caught a glimpse in the large mirror on the far wall of the striking pair they made— Crowley resplendent in black and silver, his dark red hair gleaming in the candlelight; the perfect foil to Aziraphale’s white and gold. He kept an eye out in his peripheral vision as to where the edges of the dance floor were so he that didn’t careen them off into the watching audience, but since at least for the time being they had the entire dance floor to themselves he didn’t have to pay too much attention to anything but leading Crowley in the waltz as he gazed into those striking gold eyes. He vaguely considered sending his husband out into some of the grand flourishing turns he had done at the last ball, but was so content with having Crowley moving slowly in his arms he simply gave into the moment of matching their gliding steps to the music. All too soon the music was over, and the room filled with applause as they came to a stop. He let his arms fall, keeping his husband’s hand clasped in his own and turned to see his mother approaching them.

She held her elegant hand out to Crowley. “Will my son in law indulge his Queen in a dance?”

Nervous about leaving Crowley alone with his mother, especially in his fragile state, Aziraphale said, “Oh, come now Mother, isn’t it more traditional for the son to dance with his mother?”

She shot him an amused look. “You never learned how to be a follow in dancing and I am simply dreadful at following, it’s not in my nature. I promise that your new husband is safe with me and he will be returned to you in excellent condition.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest again, but Crowley said, “I would be honored, your Majesty,” reaching out to take her hand.

The Queen led him onto the dance floor and as other couples started to fill in the space, Countess Hastings approached him with a curtsy. “Your Highness, may I have the honor of this da—” but suddenly Lady Pulcifier swiftly stepped between them.

To his surprise, she grabbed his arm and pulled to the other side of the dance floor, calling over her shoulder, “So sorry, the prince promised me the first dance!”

He blinked at her. “I did?”

She shrugged, stepping into his arms as the music began. “No, but I needed to talk to you.” They stepped into the turns of the waltz as she looked at him, her large brown eyes direct and narrowed with anger simmering behind them. “What did you tell Crowley about who he was going to marry?”

The question utterly confused Aziraphale. “What?”

Anathema regarded him impatiently. “What did you say to him? About the marriage, the wedding, any of it?”

“Well, I—” he paused for a moment to think, still confused by her line of questioning. “He overheard me talking about how if we married his stepmother would lose her claim on him. We didn’t talk much about things after that though, he—” he looked away, still feeling unreasonably hurt that Crowley didn’t want to be involved in any part of the planning, “—made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with planning the wedding.”

“Think carefully, your Highness. Did you ever tell him that you were going to marry him? Did you ever actually _ask_ him to marry you?”

“What?” Aziraphale said again, completely flummoxed, looking back at her. He didn’t think he’d explicitly said those words, and he did uncomfortably realize just now that he hadn’t actually proposed, but why did it matter to Anathema so much?

Anathema waited a few waltz turns before speaking again. She seemed to be trying to control her anger as she looked at him directly with narrowed eyes and spoke in a terse voice. “As we were about to walk down the aisle Crowley told me that although he knew you must have arranged a good match for him he was worried as to if whoever he would be marrying would be kind to him. He looked so frightened.”

Her words made no sense to him. He shook his head. “You must be mistaken, it’s impossible he didn’t know—”

“Did you _see_ the way he looked at you when he looked up to see you standing at the altar? I was worried for a moment he was going to faint away from the shock of it. Up until the moment he saw you standing there he had thought he was being forced to marry a stranger that you had arranged for him!” She spoke forcefully in a manner that would normally cause his Alpha self to bristle but he was too shocked at her words to take offense.

He abruptly stopped moving, then out of reflex pulled them off of the dance floor to avoid being careened into. He stared at Anathema in utter disbelief, frantically trying to think back on what he had said to Crowley, of what Crowley had said to him over the past weeks but could find no proof that things were not as she claimed.

And suddenly with a painful clarity that hit him with the force of avalanche it all finally made sense. The reluctance of Crowley to talk about the wedding, the fact that every time it was brought up a shadow crossed his face, the reserve with which he held himself from Aziraphale these past few weeks— all of it had an entirely different context now, and one that shook him to his core. Did he actually do this? Make Crowley suffer and believe that Aziraphale didn’t want him? Let him think that Aziraphale could _ever_ possibly entertain the idea of arranging for him to marry someone else? And then there was what he said right after the ceremony— _You can’t marry me!_ , and then the panic attack which Aziraphale thought was just because he was overwhelmed— did Crowley even _want_ to marry him— _oh dear God_ , what had he done?

He stood rooted to the spot as these revelations came crashing down on his head. His hand flew to his mouth and his shoulders sagged in sudden grief and horror as he stared at Anathema in wide eyed anguish.

The fierce look on Anathema’s face softened and she reached out to lay a hand on his arm.

“You can make this right, it’s not too late. He cares for you a great deal, just talk to him,” she said quietly.

He looked up frantically to search for Crowley, the tall dark figure easily spotted moving on the dance floor. While Aziraphale was on the sidelines with Anathema the music had stopped and restarted again, and now Crowley was dancing with Lord Pulcifier, who was leading him rather clumsily on the dance floor, clearly used to following his Alpha wife’s lead. But Crowley was laughing with him and seemed to be having a good time, so he bided his time, his heart in his throat, waiting for the opportune moment to reclaim his husband and somehow beg his forgiveness for the most horrifying mistake he had ever made in his time on earth.

Crowley narrowly avoided getting stepped on by Newton yet again but sidestepped quickly as he laughed off Newton’s apologies.

Finally Newton pulled them off to the side and shook his head ruefully. “Look lad, I’m just rubbish at this, come on, let’s step out for a while so we can actually talk without me smashing your newly royal toes.”

Chuckling, Crowley followed Newton to the outside garden, uneasily noticing the small bows and curtsies aimed at him as he passed various nobles. They sat on a stone bench a little ways from the bright lights of the ballroom.

Newton glanced at Crowley, then out into the night. “So. We should talk. I’ve never made it my business to ask but Anathema recently pointed out to me that was a mistake on my part and I’m ashamed to say that she is right.” He paused and said with a wry smile, “As she usually is.”

Crowley looked at him askance, wondering where this was going.

“Tonight is your wedding night, and well, it’s rather late to be having this conversation but we should talk about what intimacy should be like with your husband.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide as he gaped at Newton. Whatever he had thought Newton wanted to talk to him about, this was _certainly not it_. Newton smiled at his reaction.

“I’m married to an Alpha woman who believes in frank communication. And quite honestly it should be responsibility of the head of any House to talk to their children about sex. It would help matters a great deal. So. Have you had a sexual experience before?”

Crowley felt his face get red. He grew up around animals and wasn’t embarrassed by seeing them mate and knew about the basics of reproduction but by no means was used to talking about his own urges with anyone.

“Erm, uh, some kissing,” he admitted. “Uh, that’s mostly it. “

Newton nodded, unsurprised. “I’m not an Omega, so I’m not the best resource for questions about that, although I did date an older Omega man before I met Anathema. We are still friends, so if you would like to meet him to ask questions of that nature I will arrange for it. But he would tell you, as I am telling you now, that just because you are an Omega does not mean you have to submit if you don’t want to. Sex with your husband should always be by mutual agreement and a respect for boundaries. Some Alphas are too puffed up on their hormones to accept that, but they are playing up to the stereotype and not all Alphas behave that way. The Prince seems kind and he clearly cares for you, so I think that if you express your wishes to him he will respect them.”

Crowley had always assumed that it was his role to submit sexually to his mate’s desires and the idea otherwise was new to him. He turned it around in his mind silently, trying to figure out how true it felt to him.

“But… I need to please him…”

“Only in the context that he needs to please you as well,” Newton said firmly. “Sex with your husband should not be about a giving and a taking, it should be a sharing of a wonderfully intimate experience that brings you both pleasure. I somewhat understand that’s a hard concept for an Omega to believe, so you may need to push yourself a little harder to let your needs be known. It might not be easy at first, but the more you try the easier it will become. But it’s very important, Crowley, that you do try. You are deserving of the same respect that your husband is.”

Newton fell silent, letting Crowley process his words. They sat in companionable silence until Crowley turned to him and said, “I’ll, uh, think about what you said. Thank you.”

Newton smiled and said, “You can talk to me or Anathema any time. She was chomping at the bit to talk with you about this, but I persuaded her that my approach would be more gentle. Knowing her, she would give you a stern lecture not only about boundaries but how to take care of your own pleasure if your husband was not up to the task. I thought it would be best to not bombard you with all of that at once.”

Crowley sputtered, his ears turning red. “Yes, I— well. I owe you thanks for that as well. I’ve already had a lot of shocks today; that may have well just pushed me over the edge into needing to call for smelling salts.”

They smiled at each other in mutual understanding of Anathema’s direct nature, when they heard a tentative “Crowley?”

He turned to see Aziraphale and had a brief flare of embarrassment at wondering if he had overhead any of their conversation, which dissolved into worry as he took in Aziraphale’s tightly twisted hands and strained expression. He swiftly stood and walked up to him.

“Angel. What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale looked down at his twisting hands as surprised to see them in that state. He disengaged them and placed them by his side, fingers still flexed as if in protest that they didn’t have something to hold onto any more. His eyes remained fixed downward as if he couldn’t meet Crowley’s eyes. “Ah, I was wondering if we could retire. I would very much like to get away from all of this and have the chance to talk to you privately.”

Aziraphale’s words dripped along his spine like melting ice, freezing the instant emotion of fearful panic that flared up. Was he already regretting marrying him? After an instant of his limbs locking into place he forced himself to move, turning back to Newton. He chided himself for immediately fearing the worst. Aziraphale had always been kind and considerate to him; there was no reason to think he had suddenly changed. Was there?

He found some comfort of hearing the evidence of his own self control as his voice came out steady, perhaps only the tiniest bit of fraying around the edges. “Of course angel. Newton, if you would excuse us?”

Newton stood and bowed to them. “Of course, Cro—, uh, your Highness. Have a good night.”

Crowley tucked the sight of Newton bowing to him along with the other thousand uncomfortable things he had seen that day into a box to examine at a later date when he he didn’t feel like his world hadn’t shifted on its axis, hung him upside down and shaken him like rag doll before depositing him back on still unsteady ground.

He turned back to Aziraphale, who inexplicably looked miserable in the edges of his eyes, the set of his mouth, the tight curled in hands. He ached to see him unhappy, and his hands twitched with the yearning to pull him into an embrace to try to comfort him. But then he remembered that Aziraphale was somehow, impossibly, his _husband_. And it was acceptable for spouses to touch each other, he could… he could...

He took a step closer as if in a dream, his hands slowly and tentatively reaching out, watching Aziraphale’s expression with the intensity of a drowning man watching the lowering of a rescue boat into the water. The eyes under those pale downward lashes flicked up and his expression changed subtly, an overlay of relief creeping over the distress. His slow advance was abruptly completed as Aziraphale quickly closed the remaining space between them, clutching at his sides and pulling him close, easing the panic fluttering like a broken winged bird within his chest. His arms settled around the white and gold frock coat, automatically gently rubbing the soft velvet fabric under his hands. Aziraphale turned his head into his neck to breathe in his scent but now he was the one thwarted by the stiff high formal collar in his way.

“Oh good grief,” Aziraphale muttered with a tinge of annoyance. “Let’s go back to our quarters and get these ridiculous clothes off.”

Newton’s words flashed through Crowley’s mind at the same time an image of both of them unclothed at the same time, in the same room, battled for supremacy in his brain. Aziraphale seemed to realize the same thing as a blush bloomed on his cheeks and he flicked a glance at Crowley.

Trying not to think about either thing too much, Crowley carefully created a neutral blank space in his mind as he clasped their hands together and led them back to Aziraphale’s bedchamber. _Our bedchamber_ , he corrected silently in his mind, stunned at the realization. The bedchamber he thought he would never see again after today, that he was walking back to, with his husband, the Crown Prince Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chexpet, per your request, here is an image of the wedding ensemble that Master Harrington designed for Crowley. It’s hard to tell, but there are snakes woven throughout the floral embroidery and the Queen’s cravat pin, as well as his golden hair ribbon. And I also created an image of Anathema’s and Aziraphale’s wedding outfit as I was having too much fun with it._
> 
> _Vios_Shadow, Calisto112, AZFell_Ineffable: I added Gabriel being snarky here just for you.  
>  RangerHorseTug: Yep, Anathema did indeed throw down.  
> Prismo: Your comment inspired me to add the part about the Duchess attempting to attend the wedding; which I think was a great addition, thank you for that! There’s more to come on that pilot line. _
> 
> _I thought a lot about which character would be the best to have this conversation with Crowley. Ideally a parent would be talking to their child about these topics, and since a parent wasn't possible then the next best thing in this case was an older brother type character. For all that we know Tracy has a wealth of knowledge to impart, in this AU she is a servant and it would not be appropriate for her role. also, Being a male Beta Newton is the figure in Crowley’s life that he can relate the most closely with, so it felt as if that would result in a truer, more heartfelt conversation. For those who may be interested, I recommend reading books or listening to podcast interviews of Peggy Orenstien, who has written a lot about how boys and girls are talked to about sex in America, which is to say, not well._  
> 


	17. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This was obviously an important chapter and I worked hard on trying to strike the right notes with it. I'm looking forward to seeing what you readers thought of it. Several of you have figured out that I welcome suggestions and will incorporate them when I can, it's lent to an utterly delightful interactive experience during this story at times, thank you for that._

Crowley closed the door behind them, the soft click of the door having a note of finality to it, the last piece slotting into place of a long unfinished puzzle. The room had been readied for them in their absence; a low fire was crackling in the fireplace, a carafe of wine and two glasses were waiting on the small table near it, and rose petals were sprinkled on the bed. They both looked at the bed, then awkwardly at each other, then away, both cheeks stained pink. Aziraphale’s eyes caught the wine and his hand fell away from Crowley’s as he walked over to it. After pulling off his frock coat and draping it on the back of the armchair he took off his coronet, running a hand through his curls and rather carelessly letting the golden coronet drop on the table. He then poured wine into the glasses and offered one to Crowley without looking at him. 

Crowley took it, the rich flavor filling his mouth as he took a small drink. He knew he hadn’t eaten much that day and that combined with the strain on his nerves he was concerned that the wine would go straight to his head, and he wanted to be fairly clear headed for whatever was going to happen next. He snuck another glance at the bed with mixed anticipation and nervousness. 

Aziraphale didn’t seem to have any of those concerns and he took a long swallow from his glass before finally looking at Crowley. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous as he smoothed down the front of his waistcoat, tugging it down, his eyes meeting Crowley’s briefly before sliding away again. He opened his mouth to start to say something, closed it again, and took another long drink, holding on to the stem of the wineglass tightly. 

Crowley shifted his feet, wanting to reassure his Alpha but not sure how. He hesitated, then took off his coat as well, walking over to drape it next to Aziraphale’s. He gazed down at the coats, running his fingers down the soft velvet contrast of black and silver next to the white and gold. He was glad to remove the unfamiliar weight of the coronet from his head and carefully set it down next to the other one, getting to look at it for the first time. It was a shorter version of Aziraphale’s, the gold and diamonds representing an astonishing amount more wealth than he had ever seen in a single object before, let alone adorning his head.

He pulled out the winged cravat pin and laid it next to the coronet, removed his cravat and then unfastened the collar of his shirt, pulling the edges open. He finally looked up at Aziraphale who was standing very still watching him, his eyes huge and dark in the dimly lit room. Crowley walked over, stopping in front of him.

He felt like he could barely keep up with the astonishing things that kept happening to him— he married a _prince_ , he danced with the _Queen_ , he was somehow apparently a prince now as well…. all things he thought were beyond his wildest dreams as a Omega. But as he looked into Aziraphale’s anguished face, the revelation came to him that underneath the layers of titles and secondary genders they were also both just men, with emotions and needs and wants and desires and maybe even... loneliness. And maybe at their core they could be just men to each other, with all of those outer layers stripped away and reach out to find the other reaching out in return. He tentatively reached out now, taking Aziraphale’s hand in his.

“Angel?” he asked softly, trying to brace himself for what might happen next. He had no idea what had caused the abrupt change in Aziraphale; he had seemed happy and certainly eager to consummate their marriage earlier if his behavior right after the wedding was any indication. 

Aziraphale’s sea blue eyes reluctantly rose up to meet his. His voice came out uneven as he said, “Anathema spoke to me. She told me something that seems utterly impossible, but I desperately fear is true. She said— she said that you thought I was marrying you to a stranger, that somehow you didn’t know that I— that we—”

He looked at Crowley pleadingly, his agonized expression reflected in the soft firelight. “Tell me that she was wrong. Tell me you couldn’t possibly believe that I could ever marry you to someone else. Tell me I didn’t just completely and utterly ruin things between us, that I didn’t just marry you without your consent.”

Crowley felt a curious sort of relief ease the tension he had held tight to him for the past weeks. This wasn’t some sort of mad dream that he was going to wake up from to find a very different outcome to walking down that golden aisle. Aziraphale hadn’t been playing with his aching yearning emotions, kissing him even as he intended to see him married to someone else. And as he gazed into that beloved face that looked so utterly wrecked waiting for Crowley’s response he stepped closer to his Alpha and said softly, “You didn’t ruin things between us.”

A heartbeat passed as Aziraphale absorbed the meaning of his response, and then he pulled his hand out of Crowley’s and stepped back, an expression of horror on his face. 

“God— _no_ — so the rest of it is true?” he asked, his voice shaking.

Crowley nodded uncomfortably, not sure what he could say, since he felt like a rather spectacular idiot for misunderstanding something of this magnitude. 

Aziraphale’s hands started shaking, the wine sloshing in the goblet. He looked down at it dumbly, then looked for someplace to set it down. Walking over to the small table by the bed he set it down, then sat down on the bed heavily, putting his hands over his face.

His muffled voice came from behind his hands. “You must have thought I was some kind of monster. I was trying to court you properly, bringing you gifts, sharing meals with you, and the whole time you thought I was displaying blatant interest in a man promised to another. God, the way I plastered myself all over you the other day, and earlier, no wonder you got so upset…”

His Alpha’s distress pulled at him as a powerful vortex, pulsating with the need to soothe him. He walked over to him and tugged his hands down. Aziraphale looked up at him with despair in his red rimmed eyes. 

“No,” he said softly. “I could never think that you are a monster. You’re a… my angel.”

Aziraphale looked away from him miserably. “I just _forced you to marry me_.” 

Crowley tilted his head, puzzled. He certainly never thought he had a choice in all of this, and even if Aziraphale had actually formally asked him to marry, despite knowing all of his shameful secrets, that he was a servant, that he was an Omega... despite the fact that it was unfair to the prince to be saddled with him, Crowley didn’t think it was possible for him to have the willpower to say no to the chance to marry the Alpha before him, whom he longed for more and more with each breath that he took.

His voice came out low and thick with emotion as he leaned forward, so close their heads were almost touching, angling his bare neck instinctively in invitation, “Yes, this morning I thought I would be marrying a stranger, and I was so afraid of what that meant, wondering if they would be kind to me, if they could love me…” 

Aziraphale closed his eyes in anguish but turned his head to inhale Crowley’s scent as if he couldn’t help himself, his breath brushing out against the sensitive skin of Crowley’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

Crowley swallowed thickly and continued. “But when I realized I somehow, impossibly stepped into a fairytale and married _you_ , the most wonderful, beautiful man I have ever known, I… it still feels impossible, as if I’m going to wake up from this dream at any moment, and now what I’m afraid of is waking up to a reality where you aren’t my husband.”

Aziraphale groaned at his words, closing the distance and nosing at the sensitive skin under Crowley’s ear, causing him to shiver at the tingling sparks of pleasure against his too tight skin. 

Aziraphale sounded wrecked as he breathed against his skin, “I’m so, so sorry, my dearest.”

Crowley pulled back and placed his hands on the side of Aziraphale’s face. All of the feelings he had tried so hard to keep at bay for so long rushed through him, peeling away the layers of sorrow, fear, and what he thought was unrequited… _love_ falling away until all that was left was the clear realization that that he was hopelessly in love with the Alpha looking back at him with trepidation as if he held the fragile hourglass of his future in his hands.

“I’m not sorry,” he said simply. “I don’t care anymore how I ended up married to you, only that I’m yours.”

Aziraphale choked out a sob. “And I’m yours. All of me, forever.”

“ _Yes_. Oh God, yes _my Alpha_ ,” Crowley managed. He kissed away the single tear that had slipped over Aziraphale’s cheek, then pressed another kiss to the opposite cheek, paused, and continued slowly pressing kisses all over the Alpha’s upturned face. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed and a trembling sigh escaped him as he slowly relaxed under Crowley’s reverent adoration. 

Crowley gazed down on his Alpha’s face. Still hardly believing that he could, that he was allowed to, he slowly lowered down to lightly brush his lips against Aziraphale’s, who pressed upwards in response, tenderly deepening it, increasing the pressure of his lips. Crowley pressed low lingering kisses on him then slipped his tongue along the seam of his mouth… with a groan Aziraphale opened for him and their tongues tangled together in a sliding dance. 

Heady with the knowledge that this time they were kissing with no barriers between them at long last, Crowley quickly became greedy for more, and judging by the hands pulling at him urgently his Alpha was similarly affected. He was pulled closer, pressed up against Aziraphale’ broad chest, then those hands moved down to the back of Crowley’s legs, pulling him up and he found himself guided to climb up onto the bed on his knees, straddling Aziraphale’s wide thighs. Feeling his legs spread wide over his Alpha made him feel deliciously wanton, inflaming the need to press into him with an animalistic instinct as if they could become one. Aziraphale began licking into his mouth with increasing intensity and moved his strong hands to Crowley’s hips to grasp him firmly in place as he rolled his groin up into him. Crowley keened into Aziraphale’s mouth not only with the physical pleasure of it but also at the spike of desire to have his Alpha possess him, to show his dominance so that he could fulfill the swiftly rising gaping need opening up inside to submit to him.

Aziraphale set hurried sucking kisses against his neck as his hands moved down and swiftly unbuttoned his waistcoat. Crowley barely registered his waistcoat being pulled off, then his shirt was being tugged out of his breeches with quick urgent movements. He made incomprehensible noises at the feel of sensual hands on his bare torso for the first time in his life, his hands spasming in Aziraphale’s hair as he shuddered with the onslaught of new sensations.

But as Crowley’s own hips bucked more urgently downward, something inside of him rising fast at the feel of his Alpha’s hard cock underneath him, Aziraphale slowed his pace, breathing heavily against Crowley’s neck. Crowley turned his head to seek his lips which Aziraphale obliged for all too short of a time before pulling back, shushing him gently when Crowley emitted a small whine of protest as he leaned forward to chase his plump kiss bruised lips. 

“My darling, I have to ask— and please believe me when I tell you that it doesn’t matter to me if you have— but, have you been intimate with someone before?” Aziraphale asked breathlessly.

Crowley blinked at him, dazed, then when the words sank in he blushed at the frankness of the question and shook his head mutely, suddenly feeling awkward. 

Aziraphale sighed and pulled Crowley forward to wrap his arms around him, leaning his head on his shoulder. “I suspected. I’m so honored to be your first partner, but after everything that's happened I would love to have the opportunity to court you properly first, this time with clear communication between us.”

He raised his head to look into Crowley’s eyes. “I don’t feel right claiming you tonight after such an horrific false start. I want to be intimate with you, but I want to do it right. Please, may I do that for you?”

Crowley’s head spun as he internally flailed at the abrupt change in direction where he had thought things were going. “But… I told you that I don’t care what happened. M’ okay with this, really.”

“Oh my darling, you are so utterly perfect,” Aziraphale said softly, regret in his voice as he reached up to run his hand over Crowley’s hair. “But I care that you’ve been treated so poorly, and through my ineptitude I have continued to not treat you with the respect and consideration that you deserve. I would be a terrible Alpha to my mate, especially to my Omega, if I did not make an attempt to undo the damage that I’ve done.”

Crowley's eyes closed in shame at the reminder that as an Omega he was less desirable. “Yeah, all right,” he mumbled. He struggled to focus on Aziraphale’s words rather than the wave of disappointment from his inner Omega whimpering that his Alpha didn’t want him. Aziraphale was being kind and considerate as always, and although Crowley had no desire to wait, it was obvious Aziraphale was worried and Crowley was willing to do anything to make him happy.

Aziraphale pressed a reassuring kiss to his lips and asked, “Would you like some more wine or are you ready to retire for the night?” His eyes slanted towards him as he added almost shyly, “If it’s not too forward, I’ve often thought of how much I’ve wished I could hold you in my arms while we sleep, if you’re amenable.” 

Crowley perked up a little at the idea of sleeping wrapped in Aziraphale’s arms. “More than amenable, angel.” He yawned, trying to bury the yowling scritching of his innermost self whining needily that it needed his Alpha. He affected what he hoped was a casual tone as he said, “It’s been a day, turning in sounds nice.”

“It has at that,” Aziraphale said earnestly, leaning in to nuzzle into his neck, his soft white blonde curls tickling against Crowley’s skin, the scent of sunshine floral filling his nostrils and for an instant he had the mad impulse to push Aziraphale firmly down onto the bed, to climb on top of him as if he could be the dominant one— but no, Aziraphale wouldn’t want that, he had already refused the unspoken offering of his body. He still wrestled with the impulse, frozen, but the decision was taken from him as Aziraphale pulled back and gently disengaged them, standing up.

Aziraphale picked up one of the night shirts, handing it to Crowley. He took it automatically, staring down at it as if forgetting what it was for. Then his brain caught up under the haze of the overriding hormones that apparently made him stupid and he started undressing, obliquely watching Aziraphale do the same and felt a little better when he noticed Aziraphale also giving him appreciative sidelong glances. 

As Crowley pulled off his shirt he suddenly didn’t feel quite right. His stomach cramped, he felt lightheaded and as he tried to unfasten his breeches he had some difficulty as his hands started shaking.

Aziraphale immediately noticed and laid his hand on Crowley’s arm with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley said, looking at his hands in bewilderment as his shaking increased.

Aziraphale peered into his face, concern etched into his features. “You’re sweating and your pupils are dilated— my dear boy, are you crashing?” he asked, alarmed.

Crowley blinked at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Aziraphale froze. “You… don’t?” Then he muttered, “I am _such_ a complete idiot. Of course you probably didn’t receive a proper education. May purulent barnacles attach to that thrice poxed woman’s nether regions!” he spat out.

Crowley’s eyebrows rose, not sure if he should laugh or be impressed by Aziraphale’s creative swearing.

Aziraphale took a breath, then said urgently, “I think that your hormones were spiking, it’s something I’ve read that happens when an Omega’s body— especially males— is readying itself to be claimed. It doesn't usually happen so fast— I didn’t think— and I didn’t do anything to help you ease down from it, and now your hormones are crashing, which can be quite unpleasant. This is my fault, damn me for a bloody fool yet again!”

He cupped Crowley’s face with his hands. “Once again, I went about this all wrong. Please, tell me my darling— what is it that _you_ want? I can either help you through it— the symptoms are uncomfortable but temporary or I— we could continue being ah, intimate to bring your hormones back up.”

Newton’s words in the garden drifted across his mind. .... _it’s very important, Crowley, that you do try… to make your needs known_. 

“Yes, I want— I need— I want you; _please_ , Alpha.” he managed, somewhat embarrassed at the note of neediness leaking out in his voice but helpless to stop it.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Oh my sweet boy. Of course. Whatever you need.”

Aziraphale let out his breath and some of the tension that had stiffened his shoulders eased. He said carefully, “The most expedient way to increase your hormones is if I dominate you, and you submit to me. Would you enjoy that or would you prefer something less… intense?”

Crowley nodded, not really understanding what Aziraphale was talking about but the pushing need to please his Alpha was still itching underneath his skin, making him feel like he was floundering like a trout gasping on land without knowing how to fulfill that need. He felt flustered, unused to such a direct question to his preference for a bedroom activity, or really any activity, he had to admit to himself.

“Um, nyeah, the first thing you said… I think…” he nodded, trying to convey his meaning, then stopped, embarrassed. “Uh, you don’t have to if you don’t want, I— I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Aziraphale looked startled. “Don’t have to— _Crowley_. Let me be _absolutely_ clear,” he said firmly, the fingers around Crowley’s face curling in slightly with the certainty of his words. “I have wanted you since the moment we first met, and I swear to God that it’s only by sheer force of will that I don’t have you pinned underneath me right this minute while I possess you utterly and completely.”

Those precisely enunciated words of _possess you utterly and completely_ shoved their way into the overstuffed feeling in Crowley’s head, shooting straight down his spine with electric need suffusing his frame, turning the edge of his shaking to something else entirely. 

Aziraphale looked earnestly into Crowley’s eyes. “We haven’t had time to talk about this, but you must tell me if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I will stop immediately and I will never be upset with you. Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll… try.”

Aziraphale brushed his thumb tenderly across Crowley’s cheek and then shifted one hand to wrap firmly around the back of Crowley’s neck. He closed his eyes and pulled his shoulders back, straightening his back and shifting to widen his stance. Then he snapped his eyes open and looked at Crowley in a way that shot straight to his inner Omega, an intense predatory heat emanating from those blue depths with all the force of the earth cracking open and exposing something powerful hidden in its core. Gone was the mild demeanor he commonly wore like a mantle and in its place power somehow radiated from him as the scent of sunshiny florals suddenly intensified.

His voice came out low and rough. “Who is your Alpha?”

“Y-you are,” Crowley in a shuddering whisper, feeling as though heavy gold bands were sinking into him, trapping him under the sudden intensity of those eyes. It wasn’t an unwelcome feeling though, rather it felt like he had been adrift his entire life with something solid to finally anchor to.

“ _Yes_ , I am your Alpha.” The hand on the back of Crowley’s neck tightened on him firmly as Aziraphale stepped in close, rubbing his face into the hollow of his throat and growling against his skin with crackling electric words. “You are my sweet, darling Omega, and you are _mine_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Heh, betcha thought I was going to come up with an excuse to postpone the spicy bits on their wedding night. Nah, they deserve it after waiting for so long, and so do you._
> 
> _Endless thanks go to the fantastically awesome Vios_ Shadow; we’ve been having loads of fun tossing ideas around for my next Good Omens fantasy fic-- an Aladdin AU! It’s in the outline stage now and will take me a while to write but we’ve got some fabulous ideas for it, so stay tuned._
> 
> _Chatting about plot ideas is the absolute BEST; any of you out there who would enjoy doing the same (your story or mine, it’s all fun) feel free to reach out to me on Discord or Tumblr!_
> 
> _And oh, those of you let me know that you felt this was binge worthy (GenderqueerWriter, Elf_Kid, clear_night_sky, ViviBaby69420, Artiyax), some even staying up until 1am to read it (Rachiel), goodness that is such a wonderful compliment, thank you, my writerly heart just swoons with glee._
> 
> _On Christmas day I’ll be posting a present to my delightfully wonderful readers; a one chapter Good Omens canon compliant story called Teach Me Your Lessons, Teach Me Your Touch about their first time being intimate together. Not exactly the most original concept, but hey, it’s Christmas, I declare that it doesn’t have to be too deep._


	18. Taken Care Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You have WishIWasAPrincipality to thank for this early chapter release, who begged me to not make them wait until after Christmas for the Grand Consummation of Passion._
> 
> _This is what you dear readers have been waiting so patiently for, right? An entire chapter of spicy bits? Your wish is my command. If you’re not into explicit scenes you can skip this chapter; there is nothing resembling a plot in it. :)_
> 
> _For clarity, in this AU the external genitalia is that of the primary gender. An Omega male's internal biology is a little different of course since they can bear children, and there are some other small differences, but the external genitalia of a male Alpha, Omega, or Beta is the same._

_“You are my sweet, darling Omega, and you are **mine**.”_

Crowley went light headed in a way that he was pretty sure had nothing to do with the crashing Aziraphale had told him he was experiencing. The almost unbearable need to submit that had faded slightly came roaring back, rising up to engulf him, his inner Omega swiftly rising with it, yowling with the quivering need to be taken care of by his Alpha.

Manicured hands reached down to finish undressing him. When Crowley tried to help with stiff clumsy fingers his hands were batted away with a stern look that liquified his insides. He let his arms fall limply to his side as he watched Aziraphale resume his task with quick efficient movements.

Aziraphale murmured “Someday soon I look forward to taking the time to savor unwrapping you slowly like the enticing present you are, but tonight I feel the need to be a little more expedient.” 

When he had removed the last article of clothing he slid his hand to the back of Crowley’s neck and leaned in close to inhale deeply, his eyelids sliding shut briefly. He then straightened and commanded “Get onto the bed on your knees my darling boy.” 

A whisper of a whine escaped with Crowley’s sharp exhale as his limbs moved jerkily to comply without any direct input from his brain. He climbed onto the bed clumsily, in part because he was paying far more attention to Aziraphale quickly removing his own clothing than to managing the movement of his body. He was kneeling as ordered by the time Aziraphale rolled down his stockings and tossed them aside. But before Crowley could take in much more than a brief fascinated look at Aziraphale’s nudity he had stepped in close to him. 

“Come here my darling, to the edge of the bed, that’s right. Now put your shoulders back, chin up, straighten up now, let’s see better posture, like this, that’s my good boy.” 

As Aziraphale spoke the firm press of his hands seemed to be everywhere, pushing at his shoulders, nudging his chin up, pulling his hair ribbon out and arranging his hair around his shoulders, running a finger down Crowley’s spine as he straightened it to comply with his Alpha’s commands. Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands and guided them around to his back, the electric glide of a fingernail along his palm sending a tingling jolt down his arms all the way to the center of the rising heat in his groin. His cock had softened after they had ceased their earlier amorous activities but was quickly hardening under the pointed attention he was receiving. His hands were placed together over his low back with a firm instruction to keep them there that sank into Crowley like molten gold, spreading a heavy certainty that he would hold his hands together until the end of the world crashed around them if that was what his Alpha desired of him. 

Then those strong hands were sliding in between his legs, the tingling sensations of fingers against his sensitive inner thighs sending a tremor through his body. Aziraphale paused, looking up at him, then seeming to sense that the tremor was caused by something other than crashing resumed his task with a satisfied smile as he applied pressure with his hands to gently push on Crowley’s thighs to guide him to spread them wider. 

Then Aziraphale took a step back, assessing him with predatory eyes that caused a shiver of anticipation to trickle down Crowley's spine as he knelt nude under his Alpha’s heated gaze. A tinge of embarrassment was overshadowed by his Omega self preening under the obvious appreciation of his Alpha’s hungry gaze, although he resisted the instinct to spread his legs wider to showcase his cock even further for his Alpha’s approval. 

There was a pause, then Aziraphale said thickly, “Just _look_ at you, you gorgeous creature. Utter perfection.” 

The approval dripping from his voice sank into Crowley’s rapidly heating skin as drops of rain splashing onto sun scorched rocks. He couldn’t speak, there wasn’t enough room in his head to form words as a sort of ballooning relaxing calm pressed into his mind and began spreading outwards that was at odds with how tightly his body was winding up. All he could do was kneel, his body exposed for his Alpha’s obvious approval. His skin felt tight and oversensitive, even the loose hair brushing his shoulders felt on the edge of uncomfortable. His eyelids fluttered heavily as he tilted his head, his hair sliding against his skin that sent another minute electric tremor arcing through his body. 

Aziraphale stepped closer and breathed, “It’s all right my darling. I’m here to take care of you. Can you close your eyes for me?”

His already heavy eyelids slid shut, and he gasped softly as he felt hands in his hair, gathering it at the back of his neck and pulling it tight so that he felt his head held fast in a strong grip. 

A low gravelly voice sounded by his right ear. “Am I holding you too tightly my dearest?”

Crowley opened his mouth and tried to respond but no sounds came out. His brow furrowed as he gave a small whine, unhappy that he couldn’t follow his Alpha’s commands. 

“Shh, shh, it’s all right,” Aziraphale said soothingly. “You’re doing so well my sweet boy. I am so very proud of you. Let’s try something else. Try tapping the palm of your hand with your thumb. Two taps for yes, one tap for no.”

He felt Aziraphale lean closer to him, his chest brushing against Crowley’s as Aziraphale looked over his shoulder. Crowley brought awareness to the hands behind his back and was inordinately proud of himself when he managed to tap once against his palm. 

“ _Very good_ my darling,” Aziraphale praised him, which made Crowley preen at pleasing his Alpha. The hand in his hair pulled his head back and to the side, exposing the long line of his neck like an offering. When he felt lips against that taut skin he gasped with the intensity of the sensation of it, which seemed to spur Aziraphale further as he increased the vigor of the press of his lips, opening his mouth and applying sucking pressure, brushing his teeth against his skin. While continuing his onslaught on Crowley’s neck the hand that wasn’t fisted tightly in his hair traveled down to curve around his buttocks, which Crowley only dimly registered until he felt a finger slide tantalizingly into his cleft. The feel of the finger so close to his entrance made him shudder in a sort of surprised spike of pleasure as his entrance twitched in a way that was new to him. The finger gently stroked into his cleft until he felt the pad of a finger pressing firmly against his furled hole at the same time Aziraphale bit down on his shoulder, not hard enough to break the skin but with a purposeful intention behind it that spiked straight into Crowley’s brain as his hips bucked forward helplessly and he cried out, _“Alpha!”_. 

Aziraphale licked the bitten skin tenderly, his hands still firmly holding onto Crowley and his finger pressed against tantalizingly against that intimate part of him. His thighs trembled as he waited with breathless anticipation to see if the finger would breach him. But to his disappointment the finger withdrew, his hair was released, and he felt Aziraphale climb onto the bed next to him, carefully keeping contact with Crowley with a hand as he did so. 

Aziraphale’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck again and tugged. “You’re being so good for me, my precious darling. You deserve a rest. Lay down,” he crooned.

He found himself being guided gently but firmly to the middle of the bed. He kept his eyes closed as his Alpha had commanded and let Aziraphale positioned him to lie face down. As he was being pushed downward he briefly felt a hand on his cock, making him inhale sharply as it was adjusted to lie upright comfortably against his low belly as he lowered down onto a pillow that had been placed under his hips. His hands were then guided to rest over his head, one hand placed on top of the other. 

Aziraphale kept one of hands wrapped firmly around Crowley’s wrists, using the other to give him long strokes from the back of his shoulder, down his back, over the curve of his arse, and down the back of this thigh, trailing sizzling fire that sank into Crowley’s overheated skin in its wake. 

He continued to caress Crowley’s skin as he said, “I can hardly believe you’re finally mine. I’ve dreamed of being about to touch you like this and it’s even better than my dreams. My sweet lovely boy.”

Approval pulsated out from Aziraphale’s low molten voice, feeding the ravenous maw of need deep within Crowley. He was acutely aware that with his arse positioned high above the pillow and his wrists pinned above his head he was utterly, deliciously exposed, like he could be taken for his Alpha’s pleasure at any moment. He flexed his knees into the bed instinctively, pushing his arse upwards in unconscious invitation.

Aziraphale groaned and suddenly covered his back with his body, his weight settling across the entire length of him. He whispered into Crowley’s ear, his hot breath gusting against skin that stood to attention in pinpricks of goosebumps, “Am I too heavy for you, my darling? Use the taps if you need to.”

Crowley tapped his thumb against his hand once for no. The welcome weight of his Alpha on him anchored him, making him feel almost unbearably safe and protected.

“My perfect husband.” Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s wrists more firmly, pinning them down with a strength that sent a liquid pool of heat straight to Crowley’s groin which caused him to twitch into the pillow underneath his hips. Aziraphale mouthed at his neck, lightly biting it as he rolled his groin into Crowley’s buttocks, pushing his cock along the cleft of his arse which simultaneously pushed Crowley’s increasingly sensitive cock into the firmness of the pillow. A mewl wrenched out of Crowley at the solar flare of arousal that suffused his limbs. 

After a few slow slides of his hips Aziraphale growled into his ear, “Do you remember that time in the library? I’ve thought of it so many, many times. I was so close to losing control. I had a burning desire to yank down your breeches, then bend you over and thrust into you as you squirmed and bucked beneath me. I wanted to make you come all over the couch so that every time I sat there I would think of being inside of your beautiful body. Would you have enjoyed that?”

This time his whole hand tapped repeatedly against his other hand, a frantic flutter like a caged bird that made Aziraphale chuckle. “I’ll take that as a yes. Mmm, perhaps we’ll have to revisit the library at some point with that in mind.” 

Crowley gasped out as Aziraphale continued to rut against him. The welcome weight of his Alpha on top of him, feeling the drag of his Alpha’s hard cock against his naked arse, the pressure and scraping of teeth against his sensitive neck caused him to moan with increasing frequency and sound as his own hips snapped into the pillow seeking friction and a delicious tension started building deep within his pelvis. 

When Crowley started making hitching gasps of helpless sounds Aziraphale slowed the movements of his hips, almost lazily chasing his own pleasure as Crowley’s shuddering slowed down from his frantic rising crescendo. 

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s wrists, bracing himself on his forearms as he murmured against Crowley’s ear, “You may open your eyes if you wish my darling. Are you feeling better?”

Crowley’s eyelids slowly blinked open, the softly lit room swimming into hazy focus. This time he was able to pull words out with an effort. “God, y—yes.” Crowley gasped out, twisting his head to look back at him. _“More,”_ he pleaded.

Aziraphale smiled in satisfaction against his skin, nipping at his shoulder. “Hmmm. I confess it does something to me to hear you beg so prettily, but I’d like to change positions if you don’t mind.”

Crowley very much minded stopping what they were doing but the words managed to pierce through the fog of his brain that Aziraphale hadn’t actually suggested they stop, just move. He supposed he could manage that so he reluctantly grumbled, “All right.”

Aziraphale climbed off and helped Crowley to turn over. His limbs felt unusually heavy and clumsy as he rolled over slowly, flopping on his back to take in the sight of Aziraphale nude kneeling next to him. His broad chest was covered in curling chest hairs that were so pale they were almost white with wide soft pink nipples peeking through the curls. He kneeled confidently, fully aware that he was on display under Crowley’s hungering gaze, his back straight as if in blatant invitation to stare at the thick erect cock nudging against the bottom of his softly rounded belly. His cock looked a little different than his own, wider and perhaps shorter. But the most exposure he’d had to another man’s cock was some excited fumbling over clothes with the carpenter's boy, so he supposed that just like with anything there could be differences between a man’s shape. 

All too soon Aziraphale interrupted his fascinated regard and moved to the headboard, sitting upright against it with his knees bent and legs spread wide. 

“Come here you gorgeous man,” he commanded, blatant hunger sizzling from those darkened eyes.

That commanding voice ignited another wave of dizzying heat, making his aching cock twitch. Aziraphale’s eyes tracked the movement, a slow charged approving smile curving his lips that made Crowley flush with a heady satisfaction that his Alpha was pleased with him. He somehow managed to gather his heavy limbs into compliance as he crawled to Aziraphale. The bristling need that had spiked with the command softened to a prickly ache as he felt his Alpha’s hands on him, pulling and positioning him until he found himself sitting between the frame of his legs. He leaned back against Aziraphale’s broad soft front, feeling the hardness of Aziraphale’s cock against the high curve of his arse. 

Aziraphale pressed his bent legs against Crowley’s side and began moving his hands in sweeping glides up and down his body. Down his arms, his chest, his flat abdomen, to the tops of his thighs, the back up again, to caress his neck. His skin seemed to sizzle and spark as those strong hands moved over him and he whimpered softly as he became limp under his Alpha’s touch.

“Look at how impossibly beautiful you are. It feels like I’ve been waiting to touch you like this forever, to make you mine by a thousand touches, to map out each peak and valley of your body until I’ve memorized the feel of you under my hands.”

Crowley moaned at his Alpha’s pointed words suffused with a possessiveness that was echoed in the purposeful movement of his hands on his quivering body. As fingers brushed over his nipples he felt them harden with a tingling jolt of pleasure which caused him to gasp softly. The fingers paused, then came back, rolling the peaked nipples between their tips which caused Crowley to arch into him, shuddering, his already painfully hard cock seeming to impossibly tighten further. 

Aziraphale gave a hum of throaty satisfaction and trailed a hand down to cup Crowley’s tight balls, gently exploring the shape of them, a finger reaching down farther to stroke the sensitive skin underneath. The sensation of Aziraphale’s hand so tantalizingly near his aching cock wrenched a needy whimper from Crowley’s throat as he seemed to lose control of his body’s responses and his hips bucked forward, his buttocks clenching unsatisfyingly around nothing. 

“Oh, my poor neglected darling. I’ve been so very remiss in my duties to you. But I’m going to enjoy taking _very_ good care of you,” Aziraphale crooned in his ear as he moved his hand up and finally wrapped it around Crowley’s straining cock. 

Crowley cried out at the first few strokes of his Alpha’s hand, his mind going utterly blank with the intensity of the pleasure. He’d pleasured himself, of course, plenty of times, but that paled in comparison to his Alpha’s hand on him, firmly grasping him and moving with slow deliberate strokes, the intoxicating scent of floral sunshine filling his nostrils… he bucked up into his Alpha’s hand, needing more, that new delicious pressure building somewhere deep behind his cock, driving him senseless with the new onslaught of sensations.

 _“Alpha!”_ he pleaded. He couldn’t keep still, squirming against Aziraphale’s soft body, his arms flailing with the need to hold onto something, he needed, he needed—

Aziraphale stilled the intimate movement of his hand. “What do you need my darling?” came a husky murmur next to his ear. 

Crowley hardly knew what he needed, but he twisted around to grasp onto his Alpha’s head and pull him into a deep kiss, a frantic movement of lips and tongue that Aziraphale readily gave back, reaching out with both of his arms to pull Crowley so that he was positioned sideways along his torso, Aziraphale’s knees bracketing Crowley’s back and thighs, one arm supporting his upper back to cradle him against that broad chest and the other to hold him firmly.

Cradled in his Alpha’s arms, the flare of anxiousness settled and Crowley was able to gentle the frantic needy pace of his kissing, then let his head loll back with a sigh as Aziraphale trailed his lips down to his neck, placing sucking kisses to the column of his throat as his hand moved back down to brush lightly against Crowley’s hard leaking erection as if in query. 

“Is this better?” Aziraphale whispered against his neck. 

Crowley bucked up into his hand. “God, yes, Alpha, _please_.”

Aziraphale growled against his neck, sending arching shivers down Crowley’s spine, his hand closing around him and stroking in earnest. 

“I’ve got you, my sweet precious husband. Let me take care of you.” 

Crowley pressed his face against Aziraphale’s neck, helpless groaning _ohs_ falling from his lips as that exquisite pleasure rose higher and higher with each stroke.

“Come for your Alpha, my darling,” came the growling command that sunk into him and grabbed like claws.

The pressure that was building almost violent in its intensity slammed to a peak at hearing the command, each stroke on his cock so pleasurable it was almost too much, and then he cried out, almost screaming, hips snapping into Aziraphale’s fist wildly as he shattered apart, his cock pulsing along with a simultaneous pulsating clenching deeper inside of him that made every orgasm he had ever experienced previously feel like a tropical storm compared to a tsunami, holding him in its grip as wave after wave crashed into him, finally ebbing and leaving him trembling and gasping with the intensity of it as he collapsed limply against Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale left his hand on his softening cock possessively as he held Crowley close, nuzzling against his sweat dampened face. Crowley floated in a daze of heavy limbs, feeling more satiated than he had ever felt in his entire life. Eventually Aziraphale stirred and reached for the shirt he had left draped on the small table by the bed, using it to wipe the come off of his hand and Crowley’s torso. That roused Crowley a little and he blinked his eyes open dazedly, drawing his knees up to curl up even more against Aziraphale’s soft body who tightened his arms to cradle him close. Crowley sighed in utter contentment, feeling for all the world like he wanted to purr like an oversized cat.

He felt as much as heard Aziraphale’s rumbling voice as he said, “We should get under the covers to go to sleep my dearest. Would you prefer to wear a night shirt to sleep in or as you are?”

Half asleep already, Crowley mumbled, “Depends. Are you going to wear one?”

Aziraphale said “I usually do, but I will defer to your preference tonight my darling.”

“S’nice. Feeling you like this,” he said drowsily.

“Then au natural it is. Come on, move over so we can get under the covers.”

As Crowley reluctantly shifted out of Aziraphale’s lap he caught sight of Aziraphale’s cock, still mostly hard, laying thickly against his thigh. Alarm shot through him as he suddenly realized that he hadn’t taken care of his Alpha, that he needed to— he reached for Aziraphale’s cock in a panic as he said “I’m so sorry, I should have—”

Aziraphale looked at him in puzzlement, then down at Crowley’s hand, which he caught in his own, stopping Crowley’s clumsy fumbling. 

“Darling, I am perfectly satisfied with our intimacy tonight. I don’t need anything else, and you are clearly exhausted.”

Crowley felt too fragile and wrung out from the events of the day. He had a hard time focusing on the meaning of Aziraphale’s words with the feeling of rejection that shot through him as he withdrew his hand, his shoulders hunching inward.

“Crowley, _no_ , I didn’t mean it like that. Come here.” He pulled Crowley under the blankets with him and positioning Crowley so that he was laying half on top of him, his head nestled on Aziraphale’s shoulder. He tilted Crowley’s head up with a nudge under his chin so he could look earnestly into his eyes.

“Of course I want you to pleasure me, you daft man, and am very looking forward to it, but I also felt a great deal of personal pleasure and satisfaction out of taking care of your needs. It soothes the beast inside of me, to take care of you like that and I would rather explore being intimate with you further when I don’t feel that you’re about to collapse from exhaustion. Now, if I swear to you that I will absolutely allow you to ravish me as much as you wish in the very near future, will you please go to sleep?”

Crowley huffed out a small laugh despite himself. Reassured, he pressed closer to his husband, nuzzling into him as he said with a smile, “Only if you swear it.”

Aziraphale chuckled in fond exasperation. “Oh, very well.” 

He spoke in a ponderous formal voice, “Let it be known that I do hereby solemnly swear that I will allow my husband, Prince Anthony Crowley, to have his wicked way with my body and pleasure me senseless. So say I, Crown Prince Aziraphale Angelus. May God strike me dead should I break my oath.”

Crowley shook with laughter. Aziraphale waited until he calmed down to wheezing pants then commanded with mock sternness, “Now go to sleep.”

“Yes Alpha.” Crowley sighed, closing his eyes as he nestled into his husband. Between one breath and the next, he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I’ve also posted a new one chapter story today titled Teach Me Your Lessons Teach Me Your Touch; the link is below. Read a spicy fic to make your Christmas that much merrier!_


	19. Good Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Here’s a little bit of plot followed by more spicy bits. You’ve been waiting so patiently for so long, you deserve another treat. Calisto112 and HolRose, you requested some snuggles (and banging) this chapter’s for you. :)_

Aziraphale felt a slight stirring from the body that was curled up against his side in a manner he found frankly adorable. He had already been awake for a couple of hours, never one to need much more than five or six hours of sleep a night, but was determined to let Crowley sleep as much as he needed after the day he’d had yesterday. After he woke he first spent some time simply gazing at the sleeping figure before slowly extricating himself to get up to use the chamber pot. On the way back to bed he snagged a book to read. As soon as he was settled back in bed Crowley automatically wiggled closer to him, settling back to sleep once he was pressed into his side. 

He gazed down at the handsome features relaxed in sleep, awed that not only did he finally have a spouse, something he’d fought against and resented all of his adult life, but that he was actually happy about it. Incandescently so. Although to be fair he couldn’t see how he could possibly be nearly this happy being married to anyone else. Just thinking of marrying one of the endless stream of young nobles shoved at him over the past years made him grimace in distaste. 

And last night… already acutely aware of the enticing body sleeping next to him, his cock was more than ready to stir at the memory. It had already been too long since he had relieved his needs before he had met Crowley, and then once they were engaged to be married of course it didn’t feel right, nor did he have the slightest desire to relieve those needs with anyone else. He had brought himself off in the lonely room of the guest chambers he had been staying in with desperate frequency to dull the edge so that he didn’t do something untoward like impulsively rub against Crowley’s delicious backside like a rutting dog every time he saw him bend over, but he was constantly aware of the prickling need under the surface of his skin that itched at him to claim his mate— to claim _Crowley_. 

And then finally, last night… he exhaled in satisfaction. He had never felt anything like it, had no idea how deeply, viscerally satisfying it could feel to have his Omega trembling in his arms with helpless pleasure that he, as his Alpha, was giving him. _Dear god_ , the roaring desire he felt last night to cherish and protect the man in his arms was like a consuming blaze and although diminished from the peak of their intimate activities, still was a red hot ember within him. 

God, the way his inner Alpha had responded to his Omega submitting so completely and beautifully to him— his cock tightened further and he shifted restlessly, trying not to disturb Crowley. He realized that he’d never actually spoken to an Alpha that was mated to an Omega about what that was like. Such things were not discussed in polite conversation of course, but now he couldn’t help but wonder, did they feel this? This conviction that there was a part of him he had no idea was missing that he finally found and clicked into place so perfectly that he couldn’t imagine being parted from it? 

He looked down again at the sleeping figure _(his husband! his Omega!)_ cuddled against him and felt a fierce wave of protective adoration rise up through him. Everything he thought about Omegas, the prejudices that he had absorbed unthinkingly from those around him was completely and utterly wrong. They _weren’t_ inherently weak. Just Crowley’s example alone of not breaking from the terrible abuse he had endured showed the lie of that assumption. 

Although undeniably they have the instinct to submit to Alphas, they should be cherished and revered as their need to submit so perfectly aligns with the needs of an Alpha to dominate. How was it possible that everyone didn’t know this astounding revelation? Aside from the idiotic assumptions that Alpha’s were more desirable, he mused, it was likely partly due to percentages. Omegas were not that common, maybe about ten percent of the total population if he remembered correctly, and male Omegas were less than half of that. Being so much in the minority there wasn’t enough of them to challenge the deep rooted assumptions of the Alpha dominated society. Well. From now on he will certainly swiftly and fiercely correct anyone should they dare to make any disparaging remarks about Omegas in his presence.

He still had a hard time processing the fact that the entire time these past weeks Crowley had somehow believed that Aziraphale had made arrangements to marry him to someone else. The very idea was preposterous as he couldn’t fathom ever letting Crowley go unless the man wanted that, and even then that would likely be a struggle. Just _thinking_ about Crowley being married to someone else— he realized he was baring his teeth in a silent snarl and forced himself to relax. He sighed quietly. It seemed he had a lot to make up for. At least now Crowley will never have to do as much as lift a dish and can put that horrible life behind him.

Crowley stirred, stretching his arm out before relaxing again, his hand landing on Aziraphale’s bare thigh. Aziraphale watched a small puzzled furrow appear on Crowley’s brow as his golden eyes opened slowly and blinked up at him. 

“Good morning,” Aziraphale murmured softly.

The look of puzzlement changed to wonder as Crowley whispered “Was it real? Are we married?”

Aziraphale smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to the sleep tousled auburn hair. “Yes, my darling.”

Crowley smiled with a soft brilliance that lit up his face that sparked an answering joy in Aziraphale’s heart, helping to ease his lingering fears that Crowley couldn’t possibly forgive him his transgressions.

“Are you still…” Aziraphale searched for the right word. _Happy_ seemed presumptuous; how happy could Crowley be at not only being forced to marry but not know who he was going to marry for weeks? And only finding out it was to Aziraphale by walking down the aisle? 

“...all right with that?” His heart suddenly felt as if it was balanced precariously on a scale, ready to tip over at the weight of Crowley’s words.

“Oh _yes_ ,” Crowley replied instantly, smiling wider. Aziraphale couldn’t help but kiss him tenderly at that, but then he suddenly he remembered Gabriel’s odd behavior at the wedding, his snide comments about ‘clear communication’, offering to fetch Crowley a copy of the wedding invitation… he groaned and thunked his head back on the headboard. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I just realized that Gabriel must have known about the, uh, misunderstanding. That bastard will likely never let me live it down. If he knew this the whole time and didn’t tell me I’m going to be absolutely furious at him.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, he and Anathema found out because of something I said just as I was about to walk down the aisle.” He buried his face against Aziraphale’s side, embarrassed. “Hell’s bells, I feel so stupid about all of that.”

Aziraphale hugged him closer. “No, no, none of that. I feel like quite the idiot myself, and I hope this is something we can laugh about together someday. I’m so sorry, I still can hardly believe— I thought that you had heard me talking to Gabriel about marrying me.”

Crowley made a muffled noise against him. “So… maybe I didn’t quite hear everything you said. I heard Gabriel say something about if I were married my spouse could protect me, and that I could be married to a pig farmer or something like that, and you agreeing to it.”

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “I could never agree to you marrying someone other than me.”

Crowley lifted his head and peered up at Aziraphale through the waves of auburn hair that had fallen across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said firmly as he brushed away the hair from Crowley’s face tenderly. “Oh, come here, come here, my darling boy, let me hold you closer,” he said as he tugged at Crowley to scoot up so he could nestle his face into Aziraphale’s neck.

He wrapped his arms around his husband’s lean frame. “It seems I have a great deal to make up for.”

Crowley shook his head. “Let’s just put it past us? I’m just… happy that I’m your husband.”

“As am I, my dearest,” Aziraphale said, tightening his arms. 

They lay there in contentment for some time. Aziraphale was acutely aware of his body’s response to his very attractive husband’s nude form pressed up against him. But he limited himself to gentle soothing caresses and the occasional press of lips to the head nestled against him. Holding himself in check was not made any easier by the fact that Crowley’s hand had found its way to the top of his thigh and his fingers were slowly caressing tantalizingly close to the part of him aching to be touched.

He was very, very tempted to roll on top of Crowley and kiss his way down that delectable body, but the memory of unwittingly putting Crowley into physical distress because of his hormones last night still tugged at him. Having thought about it as he lay awake earlier he was eager to try to fix at least one one of the many mistakes he had made recently.

“Ah, I was thinking we should have a talk about the hormones that Alpha and Omegas have. You should have some idea of what to expect so that we can set a pace that you’re comfortable with.”

Crowley was far more interested in continuing the exploration of Aziraphale’s bare thigh under his hand, but Aziraphale sounded so earnest and concerned for his well being he said mildly, “All right.”

He then scrunched his face and leaned back, looking up at Aziraphale. “Ugh. Is this some sort of weird have sex or die kind of thing like that mouse like creature does in the southern lands?”

Aziraphale looked startled. “What? Oh good Lord no! Besides, those are marsupials, not mice, and the male dies after sex, not before— but I’m getting off topic.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what you know, so I’ll start from the top. Alphas and Omegas have hormones that are unique to each of them. The Alpha hormones encourage the typical traits of aggression, possessiveness, and dominance that they are known for. Ever since I reached puberty I have made every effort to channel or control those instincts rather than let them control me but it’s still… difficult at times.”

He paused, shifting a little in the bed. “What happened to you last night— Omega’s hormones spike when they are preparing to be claimed. It can happen with all Omegas but especially with males as the biology is a little different. As you experienced, when the claiming is abruptly stopped without a gradual letdown the sudden drop in the hormones causes side effects of muscle cramping, pupil dilation, nausea, dizziness, and in general feeling quite unwell from what I understand. 

The purpose of the hormones is to increase lubrication, relax the entry for penetration, and when the timing is right… prepare the body to get pregnant.” 

The idle sweeps of Crowley’s fingers stilled against Aziraphale’s thigh.

After a pause, Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Ah, what questions do you have so far?”

Crowley considered. He wasn’t ready to face the obvious opening topic about getting pregnant so he chose a safer one. “That time in the library. You seemed to be upset and you said that I wouldn’t like you losing control.”

“Ah. Yes.” Aziraphale looked away, smoothing down the comforter. “An Alpha’s hormones can also intensify during intimacy and create a strong urge to dominate, ah, sexually.” 

He paused, a tinge of red coloring his cheeks. “I can usually control these urges but I seem to struggle more than usual… with you. That time in the library I thought you were an Alpha. Sex with another Alpha can be very enjoyable, but it tends to be aggressive on both sides and unless carefully negotiated ahead of time it will not go well if one Alpha tries to dominate the other during the act.”

A bristling itch crept underneath Crowley’s skin at Aziraphale’s casual mention of having sex with anyone else, particularly with a different secondary gender than his own. Knowing that as an Omega he wasn’t his mate’s preference made the part of him that needed to please his Alpha shift uneasily, as if lacking soft bedding to curl up into. 

Aziraphale seemed to somewhat realize his mistake as Crowley remained silent against him, his eyes downcast. He turned so that they were facing each other and placed his fingers underneath Crowley’s chin, tilting his head up so he could look directly into Crowley’s eyes. 

“That’s all over now my darling. There is no one I would rather be with more than you.”

Crowley swallowed against the prickle in his throat as he mustered up the courage to say “I uh, have heard that paramours are common among the nobility.”

Aziraphale shifted closer so that Crowley could feel the Alpha’s breath against his face as he spoke earnestly. “Crowley. I will _never_ take a paramour, nor will I want to. You are everything I want and more.”

It was almost too much, the way Aziraphale was gazing at him with impossible tenderness in the blue depths of his eyes. It was still all so new, he could still hardly believe that he was married to _Prince Aziraphale_ of all people, and that Aziraphale actually wanted to marry him, even knowing all of who he was. Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t resist wiggling closer to nose under Aziraphale’s chin into the soft flesh of his throat, inhaling the reassuring scent of floral sunshine. He felt Aziraphale stroking his back as Crowley nuzzled him, rubbing his face on that slightly scratchy skin until the feeling of being reassured at being so close to his Alpha slowly gave way to another feeling that caused a very different sort of itch to prickle at his skin. He pressed a tentative kiss into the soft throat he was pressed up against and was rewarded with an increase in pressure of the hand gliding along his back, a subtle change from soothing to possessive that spiked a rush of heat to his groin. 

Aziraphale’s voice was a rumble Crowley felt against his chest as he said, “I can continue your long overdue education on the matter, or if you would prefer another source I have some books about Alphas and Omegas you can read that would be helpful.”

Crowley knew that Aziraphale had his best interests at heart but he was becoming too distracted to be much interested in further education of an academic sort. There were other types of education he felt woefully ignorant about. Didn’t seem fair, really, that apparently Aziraphale was quite experienced and he wasn’t. Seemed he had a lot to catch up on. And with that thought he mumbled, “Maybe later.”, before applying a sucking kiss to Aziraphale’s throat while his hand slid down to cup over a broad backside.

Aziraphale hummed in appreciation, his own hand moving down to Crowley’s buttocks, curving around them. He leaned in to seek Crowley’s lips and they exchanged deep kisses as their hands slid over the contours of their bodies. Aziraphale’s caresses eventually wandered down further, fingers sliding into the cleft of his buttocks before moving up his back. Crowley dimly remembered a rhythmic clenching down there during his climax last night that he had never experienced before when touching himself that took the experience to a whole new level of pleasure. Now that he knew a little more about these hormones he had, he suspected it had something to do with his Alpha’s presence causing these new sensations and he was very much looking forward to exploring that further. 

When Aziraphale’s fingers wandered down again to dip down into Crowley’s cleft he couldn’t help but softly whine, pressing his buttocks back into that exploratory hand, seeking more. In response Aziraphale’s touch became more firm, a finger pressing down purposefully.

 _“Ngk!”_ Crowley gasped out at the shuddering jolt that caused his entrance to contract achingly over nothing.

Aziraphale growled as he moved to capture his lips in a firmly possessive kiss that made his head spin, as his hand moved down to encircle Crowley’s straining erection.

Crowley pulled back with some effort. “Wa— wait.”

Aziraphale instantly stopped stroking him, moving his hand away and looking at him expectantly. “Of course my darling. Am I going too fast? We can get up, I’ll call for some breakfast—”

“No, damn it, you swore an oath that you’d let me— I need to—”  
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in surprise, then laughed, his laughter bright and clear as a bell.

“Oh my sweet husband. You are far too perfect. Well then. We can’t have God striking me dead for breaking my oath, now can we?” he said with amusement. He dropped a lingering kiss to Crowley’s mouth and asked, “Did you have something particular in mind?”

Crowley felt his cheeks turn red. Talking about sex was a concept that was new to him and he didn’t really have much of a idea other than the bristling need to please his Alpha. “Ah, no. Maybe you can tell me what you like?”

“Mmm. I Iike many things and suspect that I will enjoy them even more with you.” He thought for a moment, then said “Would you like to start by touching me like I touched you last night?”

Crowley ducked his head as the suggestion pulled at him viscerally. _Oh yes_ , he would like that. The trickling drops of need to please his Alpha swiftly turned into an ocean of want, flooding over him so that he couldn’t speak, barely managing a nod as he pressed closer to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale shifted onto his back and settled down lower on the bed. 

“All right my dear, ravish away,” he said with a mischievous glint to his eye.

Crowley huffed at his cheekiness and tugged down the bedding a little, looking up at Aziraphale in query, who obligingly helped by pushing the bedding down to his thighs. Crowley watched his pink nipples pebble in the cool air, and he reached out to touch one lightly with his fingers, which caused Aziraphale to humm encouragingly. Emboldened, he applied a little more pressure, bringing the nipple into even more of a peak, then moving over to apply the same treatment to the other one. 

Aziraphale arched his chest into his fingers and said in a sighing voice, “I would enjoy having your mouth on them, if you’re amenable.”

Crowley was more than amenable, eager even, as he moved over and lowered his head. He licked a nipple experimentally, noting the pleasing texture and the salty tang of his skin. He licked it again, then from there it was a natural progression to enclose his mouth over it and swirl his tongue. In response he felt Aziraphale’s hands thread into his hair and heard breathless sighs above his head. Not wanting to leave the other nipple neglected, he shifted over to apply his mouth to the other side. As he did so he became acutely aware of the erection that was pressed against his belly and after a last long lingering swirl of his tongue he moved back to his side, resting his head on Aziraphale’s chest as he turned to gaze downwards. 

The pale curly chest hair that tickled his cheek tapered off fairly quickly to the smooth gentle swell of belly to dip down into white blonde coarse curly hairs at Aziraphale’s groin. His pubic hair was shorter than Crowley’s own, laying neat and tidily against the apex of his thighs, which made him idly wonder if they naturally grew that way or if Aziraphale trimmed them. His hands drifted down to touch that cloud of pale hair. It wasn’t as soft as it looked, but was pleasantly springy under his fingers. He finally turned his attention to Aziraphale’s cock, which he felt a tendril of intimidation by, an uncertainty that he would be able to please his Alpha. His cock was fully erect, lying against the underside of his belly. There was a glistening at the tip that Crowley felt drawn by and he reached out to wipe his thumb over it. This caused Aziraphale to inhale sharply and his cock twitched under his hand. 

Crowley pulled his hand back quickly and looked up at Aziraphale, uncertain if what he had done was something undesired. Aziraphale seemed to understand and he said in a low voice, “It feels very, very good to have you touch me my dear boy. I would love for you to touch me more, but only as much as you are comfortable with.”

Relieved, he shifted up to seek Aziraphale’s mouth, who groaned into him as his fingers encircled his shaft. He started off stroking lightly at first, enjoying the feeling of his hand sliding over that velvety hardness. As Aziraphale flexed his buttocks restlessly, he increased the pressure and speed. A little precome leaked out of the head and he used that to slicken the slide of his hand.

A visceral satisfaction spread through him as he pulled back to watch Aziraphale’s eyes close and breath quicken. He felt in that moment as if this was a divine purpose he had, to give his Alpha pleasure, to make him writhe and moan against the sheets, his mouth slightly parted with words falling from his lips like a benediction.

Oh, you feel so wonderful, I love you touching me, oh, you make me feel so good, oh yes..”

Aziraphale’s arm tightened around Crowley and held him close. “Could you speed up, my darling? That’s it, yes. Oh, my perfect boy, oh, I’m so close…”

Aziraphale tensed underneath him, his eyes squeezing shut his breathless moans became more rhythmic. Inspired, Crowley bent his head down to enclose his mouth over Aziraphale’s nipple as he tightened his fist around his Alpha’s cock. And then Aziraphale cried out, his head arched back, thrusting into Crowley’s hand as he came in jerking tremors. 

After working him through it Crowley nestled into Aziraphale’s warm side, practically purring with satisfaction as Aziraphale opened his eyes slowly to look at him with a heavily satiated gaze.

“Oh my dear, you’ve got goosebumps, here, let me cover you up.” Aziraphale leaned over to grab the discarded shirt from last night to clean himself up and then drew up the blanket, tucking it tenderly around him. He then shifted to roll on top of Crowley, bracing his weight on his elbows as he looked down at him. 

A smile curved his lips as he said “I know of another way I can warm you up.” He dipped down to nuzzle at Crowley’s neck, then started moving downwards, pulling the blanket over his head as he trailed kisses down his chest. 

Crowley anticipated the delightful feeling of his Alpha’s fingers wrapping around his erection but he wasn’t prepared for a wet warmth to enclose over him. 

“Oh!” he gasped, surprised, his hips involuntarily bucking up. In response he felt a broad hand firmly wrap around his hip, pinning him down into the mattress as the incredible onslaught continued, with the addition of a sucking pressure that caused him to scramble for something to hold onto, his fingers blindly twisting into the blanket.

Already wound up tight from the activity of giving his Alpha pleasure, Crowley felt the pressure centered in his groin build with the speed of a rhino’s charge and he tensed, trying to hold back. He said urgently, “Oh, oh, I’m going to— you might want to stop—”

In response he felt the hand on his hip tighten, and instead of stopping Aziraphale sped up, moving the hand at the base of his cock in tandem with the slide of his mouth. As Crowley realized that his Alpha had no intention of moving his mouth away he gasped, his head arching back into the pillow as his buttocks clenched rhythmically, flexing up until that rising peak spilled over.

“Oh, God, _oh yes_ , Alpha, oh, I’m coming, _yes, yes, yes!_ ” he cried out as he came. Aziraphale hummed in satisfaction, only pulling away when Crowley’s last feeble twitches stopped. He then crawled back up to gather Crowley in his arms. 

After basking in the shivery afterglow Crowley raised his head from where he had been pressed into Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Do I get to do that to you?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I certainly hope so. I prefer that as foreplay myself though, rather than the final act.”

Crowley looked at him, puzzled. That had felt utterly fantastic to him. “Why?”

“Mmm. While I will love having you mouth on me, and do enjoy it, being inside of you will feel even better. For me it’s more like a delightful appetizer leading up the delectable main course.”

Aziraphale shifted on his side to face him. “That being said, I was thinking… first let me assure you that I completely and utterly desire you and have only been able to keep my hands off of you through sheer force of will ever since we met.”

Crowley blushed, inwardly pleased.

“However, considering everything that’s happened, I can’t help but feel that it would be best to wait to fully claim you until I’ve had a chance to court you properly, give you— give us—a little more time to ease into our new relationship.”

Crowley’s face fell at that. “So, no more of… this?”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley closer and nuzzled at his neck. “I would say yes, but I’m afraid that my restraint can only go so far. How would you feel about continuing these types of intimate activities short of actual intercourse?”

Crowley felt that he was more than willing to have his Alpha claim him in every way possible, hopefully repeatedly and often. But as this wasn’t the first time Aziraphale had suggested something of the sort he figured it must be important to the prince. And Aziraphale was kissing his neck so tenderly it was hard to deny him anything, especially in the drowsy afterglow of a spectacular orgasm.

“All right,” he said, bringing his hands up to run through soft curly hair. “But I get to do that thing you did to me on you next.”

Aziraphale laughed, rising up on his elbow to press a delighted lingering kiss to Crowley’s mouth. “I shall be your humble servant in this regard my dear husband.” 

They lay in bed a while longer exchanging lingering kisses until Aziraphale insisted they dress for breakfast. Crowley grumbled until Aziraphale said with a wicked smile that although Crowley seemed able to exist on thin air _he’ll_ need food to keep his strength up for all of the ravishing he was planning to do to him. He laughed heartily at how fast Crowley scrambled out of bed and reached for his clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ViosShadow: yep, you have a conduit to my brain about Gabriel._
> 
> _The concept of hormones wasn’t discovered until the early 1900’s and this AU is set in roughly the 1700’s but I declare that this is a fantasy AU where they’ve figured out what hormones are. Maybe because they are an Alpha/ Omega society, maybe just because I said so. :)_


	20. The Argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You didn’t think I forgot about the carless comment Aziraphale made about Omegas did you? I know many of you, including RosiePaw, Calisto112, Servant OfMischief, Vios_Shadow, and MiladyMorningstar have been chomping at the bit to have that particular issue come up again. I hope it was worth the wait. :)_

Crowley did his best to settle into life at the palace. Aziraphale remained busy with his royal duties but he had dinner with Crowley faithfully every night and often for lunch. He missed the prince when he wasn’t around especially as he still felt like a stranger in the palace that was now astonishingly his new home. He had no idea what he should be doing with his time. When he tried to clean up after himself the staff looked shocked and Aziraphale chided him gently. “You don’t have to do that anymore my darling.” So he would sit down again, feeling awkward and useless.

During dinner he listened to Aziraphale talk of his day, about the financial juggling of the treasury, the constantly changing trade agreements, the politics, and couldn’t help wondering how he fit into all of this. He had tentatively suggested attending some of the council meetings but Aziraphale would always dismiss his idea with a smile and reply that he didn’t need to be bothered with any of that. It rankled that his husband wouldn’t even consider it but cognizant of Aziraphale’s feelings about Omega’s being needy and clinging he said not a word of complaint.

He should be deliriously happy, he told himself firmly. And he was, when he was able to spend time with his husband. He was certainly deliriously happy with their increasingly varied activities in the bedchamber. Aziraphale hadn’t fully claimed him yet, which made his inner Omega restless, but seemed determined to teach him every form of pleasure short of that. The first time he watched with astonishment his Alpha sinking to his knees in front of him in a decidedly submissive posture and sliding his mouth onto his cock, but with a heavy hand splayed firmly and possessively on his hip he thought he might fall apart from the heady pleasure of it.

Despite his lingering disquiet, Crowley settled in the best he could. Wandering in the gardens one day he struck up a conversation with the head gardener. Philip was an older grizzled man with his tanned wrinkled face showing the story of his life mostly spent outdoors who didn’t stand much on ceremony but initially regarded Crowley with wary deference. Once Philip got over the idea the new prince actually knew what he was talking about and had a genuine enthusiasm for plants he warmed up readily. Since then Crowley had several enjoyable conversations with him about various topics like soil maintenance, pest prevention, and garden design. Much of the other staff though, seemed to feel that it was improper for them to be informal with their prince and Crowley thought wistfully of Tracy, who had completed her service to the royal family when Crowley and Aziraphale got married.

Crowley stepped down from the carriage and then looked askance at the servant that started to follow him. “Um, I don’t need you to go with me. You can stay with the carriage or go for a walk or something.”

The servant bowed and stepped back. Crowley walked up to the door of the townhouse and knocked. When Tracy opened the door she gave him a wide smile and sank into a deep curtsy.

“Your Highness.”

Crowley made a face. “Gah, no, please. Can’t you just call me by my name?”

“Which one? Lord Crowley? Prince Consort?” she asked, straightening up with a twinkle in her eye.

“Just Crowley will be fine,” he grumbled. “It’s weird enough that everyone else insists on giving me a title, I was hoping maybe you could treat me just as— well— me,” he said with a note of wistfulness in his voice.

Tracy softened. “Oh, of course dearie. Well then, come inside, I’ve got some tea and crumpets ready for us.”

After they had settled into the chairs around her small table they chatted about inconsequential things for a little while. Eventually Crowley set down the crumpet he had been nibbling on and said, “I wanted to talk to you about something. I was hoping to talk you into coming back to work at the palace.”

Tracy pursed her lips and took a sip of tea. “You don’t need me. You’re as fit as a fiddle now.”

Crowley gave a little half shrug and looked at her hopefully. “You’re right, not as caretaker, but maybe as something else then? It seems there’s all sorts of roles at the castle, I’m sure there’s something you could do.”

Tracy shook her head. “The palace is too full of stiff prats for me, and not enough to do. I’d be bored silly. But maybe I could be persuaded to come back as a nanny for you when you start popping out beautiful babies,” she said with a wink.

Crowley‘s face fell a little at that.

Tracy leaned forward and tilted her head, regarding him shrewdly. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure. We haven’t—” he flushed and snapped his mouth shut.

Tracy lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Haven’t what? Hasn’t the prince ravished you senseless by now?”

“Ah, well, yes, sort of—” Crowley didn’t think it was possible his cheeks could feel any hotter. He looked around wildly for a distraction and grabbed the teapot. “Uh, do you want more tea?” he asked, waving it at her full teacup.

Tracy ignored his feeble attempt at changing the subject as she leaned forward in bright curiosity. “So what’s the problem dearie? Does it hurt? Is he not doing enough to prepare you? If that’s the case I can give you some oils that will help, or there’s things that you can do ahead of time to make it more comfortable. You can use your fingers or I’ve got some lovely little items that you could use that can help give you a nice stretch—”

Crowley cut her off hastily, bewildered as to how on earth they had managed to get on this topic.

“No! It’s not that!”

Tracy waited, her eyebrow raised expectantly, and when Crowley continued to flounder, said “Is he taking care of you? Some Alphas are all about their own pleasure, and you shouldn’t put up with that you know. If he goes too fast for your needs to be met I recommend riding him so that you’re the one in control—”

Crowley was pretty sure he had died and was now in a really bizarre version of Hell where he was going to die endlessly of embarrassment. He dropped his head in his hands and laughed helplessly, shaking his head.

His voice came out muffled behind his hands as his shoulders shook with laughter. “Tracy. You’re killing me. Really, the prince is very uh, considerate. That’s not, erm, a problem.”

Tracy sipped her tea as she waited for him to pull himself together. As Crowley sat back up, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes his thoughts latched onto something she had said, and his eagerness to please his Alpha overrode his shyness about the topic. He picked up his napkin and smoothed it out on the table as he asked self consciously, “Erm, are there things I should be doing to uh, prepare him?”

Tracy snorted. “He’s an Alpha, dearie. It really doesn’t take much to wind him up. Just give him a come hither look and he’ll be ready to go. We could talk about advanced techniques to please him but I’m thinking in this stage of the game we should talk about what you can do to get what you need.”

Despite his embarrassment Crowley huffed in amusement. “You sound like Newton.”

“Do I? Well then, Lord Pulsifer must be a very smart man indeed.”

Crowley made a show of peering at her grandfather clock. “Oh, look at the time. I really must be going, I have to meet with the chief advisor. Apparently it’s important that I learn things like how close my knees should be together when I’m sitting in the throne room. I swear that Gabriel is going to pull out a ruler to measure me the next time I have to sit for a royal function and rap me on the knuckles if I do it wrong.”

Tracy arched a thin eyebrow as she said “Don’t let him bully you dearie. I’ll give that pompous jackanape a few whacks across my knee if I have to, put him in his place right proper.”

Crowley sputtered out another laugh on that rather disturbing mental image as he stood. Tracy packed a parcel of crumpets for him to take with him under the clear conviction that he would starve on the short journey from her house to the palace. As he started to leave she caught at his arm.

“Look my duck, I don’t know what is troubling you and I may not be an Alpha, but I know men and at the heart of it all the prince is only a man. I don’t doubt for a minute that he has feelings for you as a man. Come talk to me any time, or better yet, talk to him.”

Crowley nodded and hugged her fiercely before heading out to the carriage.

Crowley met Gabriel in his study, where he proceeded to have his head filled with the complicated web of the lineage of the Houses. Just when he thought his mind couldn’t possibly hold yet another name Aziraphale tapped on the door and poked his head in. Although he was always happy to see his husband he was particularly delighted to have an excuse to end the lesson.

“Hello my darling, I’ve been looking for you. I found something delightful by the Merchant’s Guildhouse this morning that I simply had to buy for you.”

True to his word, Aziraphale had been continuing to court him by bringing him random gifts. To Crowley’s bemusement they often had a snake theme to it. Among other things, he now had an odd collection including a red pouch embellished with an embroidered black snake and a white porcelain flower vase with a blue snake coiled around it in a swirling design to join his snake carved walking stick.

Crowley looked down at the latest gift Aziraphale held out to him, black leather shoes with a silver snake shaped buckle on the top. He chuckled and finally said, “You know that I love anything that you give me, but if you like snakes this much I feel that I should be the one giving you serpent themed things.”

Aziraphale looked at him in surprise. “I just thought— it’s traditional to give courting gifts that reflect the coat of arms of the House that the suitor is wooing.”

Crowley looked at him with a puzzled frown. “The coat of arms…?”

“Yes, you know, your coat of arms…” Aziraphale trailed off as Crowley’s puzzled expression didn’t change. “Oh my goodness. You were so young when your father died, it never occurred to me….”

He turned to Gabriel. “Could you pull out the book that shows the House charges?”

Gabriel looked at the both of them for a moment with an odd sort of amused expression on his face. Then he shook his head slightly and turned to pull out a large tome from the shelf behind him and flipped through it until he found what he was looking for.

Aziraphale turned it around to show Crowley. “Here we are. ‘Gules, a serpent nowed inverted sable below chevron sable, and on a chief embattled sable three tri leaves argent’. The main charge on your House’s coat of arms is a serpent. I honestly thought you knew, and that’s why you wore that costume at the balls that was so fitting.”

“No, that was all Anathema’s idea,” Crowley said absently as he leaned over to look at the illustration of a red shield with a black serpent below a black inverted V shape and three white leaves across the top of a black embattlement. Huh. That was probably why the snake tipped cravat pin of his father’s had looked so familiar. Now that he was looking at it, he vaguely recognized his coat of arms as something he’d seen before.

“Let’s see yours.” He knew what the royal coat of arms looked like of course, everyone knew that, but he liked the idea of seeing it in the same book as his, as if their connection reached through the pages. Aziraphale obligingly turned towards the front.

“Ah, here we are. Or, wings argent over a laurel wreath vert, in chief a star of five points counterchanged argent and Or.”

As Crowley admired the elaborate gold leaf swirling around the illustration of the Angelus coat of arms, a knock sounded on the door and a servant poked his head in.

“A Lord Hathaway is here to see you, Master Gabriel. He doesn’t have an appointment but he is most insistent. Something about needing your advice.”

Gabriel nodded. “Very well. Escort him to my sitting room and send for refreshments.”

He bowed to Aziraphale and Crowley who were still looking through the book and went to the door. As he was leaving he said “Pardon me while I go see what Lord Hathaway wants. Perhaps he’s looking for advice on how to rescue an Omega and then marry him, confusing him by not giving him any of the details about what is happening. Like a surprise party, with consequences.”

By the time they had registered what he had said Gabriel was gone. Crowley froze for a second, then couldn’t help but start laughing at the outraged look on Aziraphale’s face.

“Oh, stop that,” Aziraphale said irritably, but without any bite to his words.

Crowley chortled, putting his arms around his husband and pulling him close. “It is a little funny.”

“No it’s not,” Aziraphale groused, as he leaned into Crowley and nipped at his neck.

Crowley kissed the frown off of his husband’s face with a smile.

He continued to feel adrift without much of a purpose until the realization of what exactly he was good for happened during a late afternoon tea. Aziraphale had mentioned that morning with a grumble that he would have to miss their planned lunch together due an additional meeting that got added to his schedule. Crowley caught him into a hug on his way out the door and suggested meeting for tea in the library to make up for it, which caused Aziraphale to smile at him delightedly and reply that sounded lovely.

The sky had been overcast that morning with a nip to the air. Despite the warm afternoon sun shining a chill lingered within the thick stone walls of the castle. Pleased at the thought he could make the library cozy warm for their tea, Crowley knelt before the fireplace to start a fire. He glanced at the couch in front of the fireplace with a small smile thinking perhaps there could be a repeat of certain activities; this time with a much more pleasant outcome.

He was humming to himself in anticipation as he was stacking the kindling. When he heard Aziraphale come in he turned, but his greeting died on his lips as he took in Aziraphale’s upset expression.

“Oh, goodness, no. I’ll ring for a servant to do that!”

Aziraphale pulled on a cord and then walked over to Crowley and held his hand out to him. Crowley took it slowly, allowing himself to be pulled up. Aziraphale leaned in to brush their lips together, then said “Thank you for arranging for tea my dear. I’m quite peckish; didn’t have much time for more than a quick nibble this afternoon.”

Crowley followed Aziraphale to the table where tea, small sandwiches, and scones were laid out. He sat down, feeling out of sorts. When he had built a fire for Aziraphale before, at the second ball, he had seemed impressed by it. But just now he had acted horrified. Was it because at the time he had thought Crowley was an Alpha and being independent and self-sufficient is an attractive trait in an Alpha but not in an Omega?

His unsettled thoughts churned in his head, making it difficult to pay full attention to Aziraphale talking about plans for the kingdom in the upcoming year but then suddenly a part of it caught his attention.

“And then I was thinking it would be nice to get away from the palace for a while; there’s a royal estate in the country I would love to show you. We’ll have to factor in when you’ll be pregnant of course, we don’t want to be too far away from the castle if you’re getting close to your due date, but I think that…”

The rest of his words faded away to a buzz as Crowley stared at Aziraphale, who was carrying on talking and eating his scone as if he’d said nothing of particular significance. That was it, he realized slowly and with complete clarity as the opaque sheet of ice he had been trying to peer through was suddenly cracked apart. That’s what his role at the palace was good for. Breeding.

“...and we would have to work around when the House Council is in session. Although Heaven knows it would be nice to take a break from those. The House Council sessions are often so stressful, I frequently come away from them with a dreadful headache.”

“I… could come with you to the Council sessions, to help support you,” Crowley said, slowly working the words past his numb mind. He looked at Aziraphale as he waited for the inevitable rejection.

Aziraphale looked startled, the scone paused halfway to his mouth. “Goodness no, that would be simply _dreadful_ for an Omega to be around. It’s full of the House Alphas all jostling for dominance and position; it’s a wonder that we manage to get any work there there at all.”

His words stung, wasp like piercing points dripping poison onto his over sensitive buried aches.

“Of course. Almost forgot you didn’t want to be married to an Omega. M’sorry,” he mumbled, his eyes burning as he dropped his teacup onto the saucer with a clatter. Whatever small appetite he had shriveled up into a hard ball in the pit of his stomach. He stood abruptly, needing to leave the room before he fell apart with his unwanted Omega emotions of neediness and fragile feelings.

Aziraphale swiftly stood as well, catching his arm. “ _What?_ What on earth gave you that ridiculous idea?”

Crowley tried to pull away unsuccessfully. The words that he had kept clamped behind his lips for so long rose up and boiled out of him in a seething wave. Suddenly he didn’t want to hold back any longer, that it felt _good_ to finally give into anger intertwined with hurt that had been coiling around his heart with squeezing pressure.

“ _You_ did! In the library, you told Gabriel that you would never marry an Omega. I seem to recall your exact words were _‘A clinging wallflower for a mate is utterly unappealing to me’_. But you believed that you had to marry me to protect me. So now you’re stuck with me, in a marriage you never wanted, with an Omega you never would have chosen, with whom you’re _obligated_ to have children with that you don’t actually want!” Crowley’s voice had risen so that he was yelling now, feeling an odd sense of relief that he was finally letting himself be angry at the situation that he had kept trying to tell himself he should be grateful for.

Aziraphale’s eyes were wide in astonishment. “Crowley, _no_ —”

Crowley cut him off. “I can't’ help but wonder if it would have been better if you had married me to someone else,” he said bitterly. “I could have just done my duty, knowing that even if they couldn’t love me they at least married me without hating who I am.” He wrenched out of Aziraphale’s grasp, striding towards the door.

Aziraphale followed him. “No, wait, I had no idea that you had these thoughts, please stay, let’s talk about this, you’re wrong—”

Crowley spun around to face him. “Oh really? Would you have ever married an Omega if you had never met me?”

Aziraphale looked at him pleadingly. “Well, perhaps not, but that was before—”

Crowley continued relentlessly “Do you want children? Oh, I know you think you _have_ to have them, but do you actually _want_ them?”

“I—” Aziraphale hesitated, but Crowley saw the answer in his eyes and winced as yet another barbed arrow landed in his aching heart.

“The only time you actually told me you wanted to marry me was when you thought I was an Alpha and that we couldn’t have children together,” he said bitterly.

Stunned silence answered him as Aziraphale’s mouth opened but no words came out.

He turned to leave but froze when Aziraphale caught at him and said, “Crowley, _don't leave_ ,” command radiating from his voice. Crowley trembled as he fought the compulsion to obey his Alpha.

“ _No,_ ” he gritted out through his teeth. “You do _not_ get to command me just because you don’t like what I’m saying. I got enough of that from my stepmother, and at least she had the decency to be upfront with how much she detested me.”

Aziraphale recoiled as if slapped and Crowley stumbled from the room, breaking into a run in the hallway. He didn’t stop running until he entered the stables, the handlers looking at him in surprise as he came to a stop, gasping for air. In between heaving breaths he ordered them to saddle Bentley, who had been the Pulcifier’s wedding gift to him, and as soon as the horse was brought to him he mounted him and kicked him into a cantor to leave the palace.

By the time Anathema opened her front door his face was tear streaked. She took one look at him and enfolded him into her arms, murmuring reassuring words as she rocked him tightly. After a few moments Crowley realized that he felt another pair of arms around his thighs and he looked down to see Owen’s earnest upturned face.

“Crowey’s sad,” Owen informed his mother solemnly.

“Yes,” Anathema said. “Should we make him some tea to help him feel better?”

Owen scrunched up his nose. “Cookies make me feel better. Crowey needs cookies.”

Crowley had to huff out a small laugh at that. He stood back, wiping his eyes. “I can’t argue with that.” He cast a sidelong glance at Anathema. “Cookies for everyone?”

“Oh for the love of— it’s nearly supper time, if he snacks now it’ll be a fight to get him to eat his dinner— oh, _fine_ , don’t look at me with those big puppy dog eyes, and don’t think for a minute I’m giving in just because you’ve got a title now you royal pain in my backside.”

As she strode down the hall, Crowley and Owen following her, she said over her shoulder, “You’re staying for dinner. Now it’s going to be your problem to get him to eat.”

To Anathema’s annoyance and Newton’s amusement, Owen obediently ate everything that Crowley asked him to, happy for the novelty of his play buddy at the supper table with him. After dinner he eagerly asked Crowley to play pirates with his wooden swords, but Anathema intervened.

“Crowley and I need some grown up time together Owen. I’m sure he can play with you the next time he visits us.”

“Or tomorrow morning, if I stay the night,” Crowley said, looking down at his hands.

Anathema cast him a sharp look. Newton intervened, saying that he’ll be the dastardly pirate Owen needs to fight. He scooped him up, bouncing him in his arms as they left the room. Owen’s giggles faded as they went down the hall.

Anathema regarded Crowley. “What happened?”

Crowley’s fingers found their way to the gold band on his left hand, turning the metal around on his finger.

“We, uh, got into a fight. Well, not exactly. I uh, did some yelling and then left.”

Anathema made a noncommittal noise, looking at him expectantly.

Crowley crossed his arms tightly. “Aziraphale didn’t want to marry an Omega.”

“He told you this?” Anathema asked, her brown eyes widening in shock.

“Sort of. At the second ball I overheard him saying to someone else that he would never marry an Omega. The disgust in his voice was pretty obvious.”

“Oh Crowley,” Anathema said, her voice soft. “I can’t claim to know how the prince thinks, but I’ve seen how he looks at you, and it’s never been with disgust. He adores you.”

She paused and then narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you really telling me that you’ve been tying yourself in knots because of one thoughtless comment you overheard him say?”

Crowley blinked at her, then looked away, his self pity abruptly floundering without the solid foundation it thought it had. He scuffed at the ground with his foot.

“Um… maybe?”

He had been carrying the hurt from that comment for so long he hadn’t stopped to really think about if Aziraphale had acted like Crowley was less because he was an Omega. He reluctantly admitted to himself that Aziraphale had never once treated him with contempt. But it still hurt how dismissive he’d been about Crowley’s attempts to be useful, as if as an Omega he couldn’t handle it. Although perhaps his idea about going to the House Council wasn’t his best one. Considering how intimidating it could be around a single strong Alpha, a whole room full of them probably would be more than he could handle.

He sighed in resignation. “You’re right. I’m overreacting and being too emotional. He didn’t say anything different than what anyone else would say.”

“ _No_ , that’s not what I meant,” Anathema said sharply. “Yes, sexism against your secondary gender is pretty common, but it’s also _wrong_. Omegas should be cherished. Maybe all he knew of Omegas was the stereotypes, maybe he’s learned differently, but you’ve got to talk to him to find out. And you’ve got to tell him how you’re feeling. He cares for you deeply, I’m positive of that. He must hate that you’re hurting like this.”

While he mulled that over he heard some clinking, and looked up to see Anathema pouring wine into two cups, coming back to hand one to Crowley.

He took a long drink. “There’s another thing. He wants to have children. No, that’s not right. He’s _expected_ to have children, but doesn’t actually _want_ them.”

His eyes filled with tears as he looked at her. “And I love him, so much it takes my breath away. If I didn’t love him maybe I wouldn’t mind as much, but it tears at me, the idea that he would make a baby with me that he doesn’t want. I grew up without a family that loved me and although I _know_ I would love any child of mine fiercely, the thought that Aziraphale doesn’t want children, that maybe he couldn’t share that love just kills me.” He stopped abruptly, wiping at the tears sliding down his face.

“Oh, Crowley,” Anathema said softly as she put her arm around him. “Come, let’s sit on the porch.”

As they walked to the front door Anathema asked, “Does the prince know you’re here?”

He shook his head.

“ _Crowley,_ ” she chided. “I know you’re upset but he’s your Alpha. He’ll go mad with worry not knowing if you’re safe if he can’t find you. May I send him a message letting him know where you are?

“All right,” he said reluctantly.

“I’ll find one of the staff to take a message. Go on, I’ll meet you at the porch in a few minutes.”

Crowley sat on the swinging porch bench and toed at the ground to set it to rocking back and forth. He watched a chicken that had apparently gotten out of its coop peck intently at the grass, making those domestic clucking noises he had always found so soothing. He heard one of the horses nicker farther away, and the tentative chirps of crickets as the sun began it’s slide down the horizon. He had missed all of this, he suddenly realized. Oh, he didn’t miss his house or his step family of course, but he missed being outside where everything wasn't carefully manicured to within an inch of its life and there wasn’t an animal in sight except for the occasional sparrow or the perfect beauty of a swan in the palace pond.

Anathema settled down next to him and they sat in companionable silence while Crowley tried to sort out his riotous tangle of emotions.

“So. Have you talked to him about how you’re feeling about having children?”

“Um. Does yelling count?” he asked sheepishly with a sidelong look.

She gave him a look that confirmed what he had suspected she thought of that suggestion. When he didn’t say anything else for a while she nudged him with her elbow. “So, now that we’ve established that you’re both idiots what are you going to do about it?

Crowley looked into his wine cup as if looking for tea leaves to tell him his future as he said ruefully, “I don’t know. I’m afraid that if I ask him about it he’ll just confirm my worst fears.”

Anathema nodded. “That’s understandable. But part of being married is learning how to talk to each other and work out conflict. You’re not giving him the chance to do that with you if he doesn’t know what’s going on in that head of yours. I can only imagine how hard it is for you to express your needs as an Omega and with your past, but you need to try to find your voice, and use it.”

He looked at her and sighed. “Don’t you get tired of being right all of the time? It must be exhausting, having to bear that kind of burden.”

She chuckled. “Nah. It’s pretty great.”

Crowley smiled, and then said, “How did the plan to breed Delilah to Reginald go?”

Accepting the change in subject, Anathema snorted. “The idiot mare decided she didn’t like Reginald. Even when she went into heat she ran away from him, biting him when he came too close. We eventually had to separate them before she did actual damage.”

“Mmm. Maybe it’s not so bad letting her make her own choice.”

Anathema rolled her eyes. “They’re horses, not a euphemism for Omegas. But yes, it seems that we’ll need to present Delilah with a different stallion.”

She was silent for a moment then said carefully, “Has it ever occurred to you that since you’re a prince now you’re in a position to change the way Omegas are treated? We haven't had an Omega royal in— well, I don’t know how long, but it’s been a very long time since there was anyone in a position of power who cared about Omegas. At the very least the fact that the laws allow them to be treated like property, with no rights of their own and that they can’t inherit is atrocious.”

Crowley looked at her in surprise. “Me? But I’m nobody, not really a prince except in title. Just decoration and breeding material.”

“Crowley, I love you but you are _wrong_ and you have _got_ to stop thinking like that,” Anathema said fiercely. “You are every bit a prince that you choose to be, and you can take an active role in the ruling of your kingdom. It won’t be easy; centuries of old laws and prejudices can’t be changed overnight, but it is now your responsibility to see to the needs of _all_ of your subjects. Not just the nobles, but those that need the protection of the Crown even more; the less privileged, the less wealthy, those taken advantage of. And you, more than any royalty that has perhaps ever existed, know the needs of those subjects and can advocate for them.”

Crowley was taken aback by Anathema’s impassioned speech. He’d never thought about any of that before. Well, of course he’d thought about how unfair life was for the types of people she mentioned but had certainly never thought he would ever be in a position to do anything about it.

Her words sank into his mind as if they were puzzle pieces finally clicking into place to fill the gaps he had been unconsciously searching for how to fill. The very idea was a dramatic shift in his perception of the world, but one that oddly didn’t fill him with fear as he would have expected, but with a sense of wonderment. Perhaps he could make a difference. If he could prevent the horrible treatment he had experienced from happening to someone else how could he not try?

His mind whirling with the never before considered possibilities, his silence drug on so long he belated realized he owed Anathema a response.

“I— I never thought about things in that way before, it never occurred to me it was even possible to change the way things are. But I— yes. I promise you, that for Owen, and for all of the other Omegas out there, that I will try.”

She flashed him a brilliant smile that lit up her face. “I know you can do it. There is a strength in you that you need to trust, and you need to trust in the prince to be a partner with you.”

The mention of Aziraphale made him frown. He wasn’t ready to revisit that yet, the edges of his hurt still feeling too raw.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

Anathema tilted her head. “It’s all right with me, but I think you should have that discussion with the prince. You can tell him he’s welcome to stay here as well if you both would like to do that.”

Crowley looked at her askance. “I don’t think I’m up for going back to the castle tonight to talk to him.”

“You won’t have to; he’ll come here as soon as he gets the message I sent letting him know where you are,” she said matter of factly.

Crowley’s brow furrowed. “How do you know?”

“He’s your Alpha,” she replied simply, as if that was explanation enough.

And perhaps it was, Crowley mused. He was only beginning to understand the nuances of what having an Alpha meant; he had originally thought it was mostly a matter of having to submit to a dominant partner but it seemed it was more of a layered bond than that. They both seemed drawn to each other even before they were married in a way that was quickly far deeper than simple physical attraction, almost as if they became mated before they were married. And although he did feel the urge to submit, and immensely enjoyed submitting when they were intimate, he was realizing that he could overcome that urge when needed and hold his ground.

For all that he had been feeling guilty believing that Aziraphale had felt forced to marry him he hadn’t taken the time to think about why he did. He didn’t actually have to; he could have easily arranged for Crowley to marry someone else and then choose a mate that neatly fit the expected criteria; highborn, the preferred secondary gender, all of the correct manners and training… but he didn’t. He chose Crowley.

On their wedding night, Aziraphale had looked at him with anguish clearly written all over his face as he said _Tell me you couldn’t possibly believe that I could marry you to someone else_ , as if the very idea that Crowley believed that caused him pain. Could it be Aziraphale felt just as much desperate yearning to be with him that Crowley felt? Was it possible he felt the same deep connection pulling with a suffocating need that yawned so deep inside of him it sometimes felt as if he might fall into it and be lost forever?

Anathema seemed content to leave him be with his churning thoughts, only getting up to light a lantern to hang on a hook on the porch wall to cast a circle of golden illumination around them against the swiftly encroaching darkness. She sat down again pressed against his side in solidarity, which he leaned into gratefully, her familiar scent soothing him as they watched the day slide into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A special thank you goes to the awesome Vios_Shadow for working through the Tracy & Crowley scene with me and the idea about revisiting Crowley building a fire. And to MJ_Riedle for feedback about their argument. _
> 
> _Several readers wanted a talk from Tracy (Felix_Rufus, WishIWasAPrincipality), so I added that particular scene recently just for you. You’re welcome. :)_
> 
> _RosiePaw, you totally guessed correctly that the Pulifiers would give Bentley as a wedding gift._
> 
> _Thank you to D3s3rtb0undN3k0matta for being my 200th subscriber to this story! Wahoo!!_


	21. The Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Here's some long overdue communication, some romance, and some spice to sweeten your day. Hope you enjoy, and continual thanks to you lovely readers who have left me such wonderful comments. They feed and nourish my writerly soul and I am ever so appreciative and thankful._

They heard the sound of trotting hoofbeats before they saw a white horse with a rider emerge from the darkness and come to a stop before them. Aziraphale had eyes only for Crowley as he dismounted, tension evident in the clenched fist holding the reins tightly, but appearing to make an effort to be otherwise calm. 

Anathema murmured to Crowley, “I will stay with you if you need me, but I think it would be best if you talked to your husband alone.”

Crowley couldn’t look away from Aziraphale’s intense gaze if he tried. “Thank you, for everything, and yes, I agree.”

Anathema nodded. “The guest room at the other end of the house is ready for you if you want it. I’m going to get ready to retire, but am always available if you need me.”

She stood and respectfully approached Aziraphale, her gaze lowered. “Would you like me to take your horse, your Highness? He can be accommodated in my stables.”

Aziraphale wordlessly handed her the reins and she walked away with the horse. After the sounds of the hoofbeats faded, Aziraphale asked, “May I join you?”, his voice low and strained. 

Crowley nodded and Aziraphale climbed the stairs, quickly at first but he seemed to visibly restrain himself, slowing by the time he reached the top and sitting carefully next to Crowley. They looked at each other silently, then Aziraphale ground out, “Are you hurt?”

The question startled Crowley. “What? No, of course not.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes briefly and exhaled sharply, then opened them again, pinning Crowley with a look tinged with anguish. “May I check to be sure? _Please_ , I— you were so upset, and then I didn’t know where you were— the last time I didn’t know where you were you had been beaten—” He broke off with a grimace. “I find I’m having quite a lot of difficulty in controlling my need to be sure you’re safe, please, _I need you._ ”

The raw pleading in his voice caught Crowley like a blow to the stomach, forcing out the air in his lungs, burning for a moment until he was able to take a trembling breath.

“Yes Alpha,” he whispered. 

Almost before the words had left his mouth Aziraphale was on him, his face pressed up against his neck to take a deep shuddering breath, his hands moving on his cheeks, his head, down his shoulders, arms, squeezing his ribs, moving down the plane of his stomach to his hips and thighs. Crowley went limp underneath him, his head falling back and the tension ebbing out of his limbs, becoming pliant under his Alpha’s firm proprietary touch. Aziraphale nipped lightly at Crowley’s neck, causing him to whimper softly, then he slid down his body to nudge his knees apart and kneel down between his legs. He continued to move his hands over Crowley’s body, even down his calves and feet. His touch was firm and purposeful, as if he was claiming Crowley with his hands alone and despite the fact that it was methodical it was more than a little arousing. 

Finally apparently satisfied that Crowley was unhurt he stilled his hands on Crowley’s knees, still kneeling before him as if in supplication. 

He raised his eyes to look into Crowley’s and broke the long silence. “I’ve been helplessly falling for you since the night we met, and that didn’t change when I found out you are an Omega.” 

His brow furrowed as he shook his head, his pale curls reflecting the lantern light. “No, that’s not quite right. It _intensified_ when I found out you were an Omega.” His hands tightened on Crowley’s thighs. “You should have seen me the night I carried you away from your stepmother’s home; I was like a feral beast, snapping and snarling at anyone who dared to come close to you. I knew then in the deepest core of my being that I had to have you, as my lover, as my husband, as my mate.”

He lifted one of Crowley’s hands to lay a kiss on the knuckles, then sighed and said with regret, “Yes, I’m ashamed to say that once I had the same prejudices against Omegas that are common in those around me, but swear I’ve never thought that way about you and… it seems I need to relearn how I think about all of those with that secondary gender. _Please_ forgive me my dearest, I will do my utmost to be better, and I desperately need you by my side to help me learn to be better.”

Crowley covered Aziraphale’s hands with his own and leaned forward. “I forgive you, and I’m sorry for not talking to you about this sooner. But I need you to do more than just change how you think of Omegas, I need you to help me protect them. They should have rights and protection under the Crown, the same as anyone else, even more since they’re so susceptible to being abused.”

Aziraphale slowly nodded. “Yes…. of course. You are absolutely correct. It won’t be easy, and may take a long time, but yes, I swear to you I will do everything in my power to make that happen.”

Crowley curled his hands around Aziraphale’s and tugged. “Come sit up here, it feels weird to have you on your knees before me.”

“You didn’t seem to mind it the other day,” Aziraphale murmured with a glint in his eye as he stood.

Crowley felt a wash of heat in his cheeks. “Oh, stop it, you bastard, that was different.”

Aziraphale hummed noncommittally and sat down next to him obediently. Crowley scuffed his foot on the ground, moving the porch swing as he leaned into Aziraphale’s side. 

“I need to figure out what my place is in the castle. You take such an active part in running the kingdom while I sit around and… look uselessly decorative I guess. I can’t even do anything for myself, which is ridiculous. Did you know that I had to ask two separate servants to light a fire in the State Room fireplace last week? Apparently the Lord Steward’s department could lay it, but only the Lord Chamberlain’s men could light it. It’s bloody insane. And then you wouldn’t even let me light my own damn fire, like I’m helpless!” he said in frustration. 

Aziraphale blinked. “I’m… sorry. I just wanted to make it so that you can put your life of servitude behind you, to make it so you never wanted for anything ever again.”

Crowley sighed, leaning his head back to look up at the night sky. “You told me once you thought I was strong despite what happened to me. But you’re treating me like I’m weak.” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth as if to protest and then shut it again. He grimaced. “Once again, I’m sorry. I want you to be happy more than anything and if you can be patient, I beg of you to give me the chance to work with you to make things right.” 

He reached his hand over to hold Crowley’s. “But… I can’t do that if you don’t tell me how you’re feeling.”

Crowley looked at him ruefully. “Yeah, Anathema made it clear she thought I was being an idiot for not talking to you about this stuff sooner.”

Aziraphale’s lips quirked. “Well. I wouldn’t say that, but I’m thankful you’re talking to me about it now.” 

He caressed Crowley’s hand as he said, “I’m not very good at this, obviously. I’ve never had a relationship that I’ve cared so deeply about. I’m certainly not accustomed to talking about feelings or how to recognize when I’m being an insufferable ass. _Please_ my dear, I need your help to let me know when I am so I can try to be better. I—” his voice hitched as he looked away from Crowley. “I feared you left me forever and I— I couldn’t _bear_ it if I lost you, especially if it was because I drove you away.” 

A pang shot through Crowley as he immediately reached out and pulled Aziraphale to him, who buried his face in his neck. “No, no, no, angel— I could _never_ leave you, _never_. That would be like amputating a part of my soul. I just needed space, that’s all, and someone to talk to. And that someone should have been you, and I’m sorry for that.”

Aziraphale shook his head against Crowley, his arms wrapping around his lean torso. “It’s all right that you talk to someone else if you need to, darling. Just— maybe at least leave me a note next time? It— it does something to me, not knowing where you are, if you’re safe.” 

Crowley pressed a kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s head. “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry.”

They sat wrapped in each other's arms for some time until Crowley murmured against his curls, “There’s a place I’d like to show you. Are you up for taking a walk?”

“Certainly my dear, anything you want.”

When Aziraphale sat upright Crowley lightly brushed his lips against his husband’s. “I’m going to go find a blanket, I’ll be right back.”

Aziraphale nodded and stood to give Crowley room to get up. Although the inner part of him growled a little at letting Crowley out of his sight he had mostly settled down from the raging need to _find_ and _protect_ that had consumed him once he realized Crowley was nowhere to be found in the castle. It had finally occurred to him to check the stables. The stable hands were just telling him that Crowley had ridden away on his horse when he was given the message that he was at the Pulcifer’s. Given how swiftly a horse was saddled for him he must have presented a fearsome sight to the handlers as he snarled out orders to them, taking off at a gallop without waiting for any attendants to accompany him. 

Crowley came back with a bundle under his arm and took the lantern off of the porch hook, handing it to Aziraphale so that he could take his hand with his free one. He guided him away from the house, past the horse corral and towards the dimly seen silhouette of trees at the end of a meadow. The lantern cast a short glow outwards; just enough to pick out the hazards of rocks and gopher holes before being swallowed up by the darkness of the night. It was rather peaceful, the rustling crunch of the ground under their feet and the distant chirping of crickets the only sounds as they walked.

When they came to the edge of the trees Crowley wove through them until he came to a circular clearing surrounded by trees. He walked to the center and shook out the blanket, spreading it over the grassy ground and placing a small pillow near the edge. He sat on it, holding his hand out to Aziraphale. 

He set the lantern down and sat down beside Crowley, their fingers intertwining.

Crowley spoke softly. “You can’t tell in the darkness, but the trees around this spot form a perfect circle, or close enough that I can’t tell otherwise. It seemed like it must be something magical that created it, like a fairy ring or something, although I think fairy rings have something to do with mushrooms.”

Crowley lay down on the blanket, looking up. “Years ago I snuck out here at night one time and discovered another kind of magic. The way the trees frame this small slice of sky it seems as if it could be a tunnel to the stars, almost as if I could reach out and touch them. When I came here I felt as if I could be hidden from the world and dream of a different life, one of having a mate, of having my arms full of my children and know that they were mine to cherish and love unconditionally. To be loved in return.” 

His voice was full of emotion as he continued. “But I eventually had to go back to a home that wasn’t really my home, to knowing I would never be allowed that; a home and family of my own. And now—” his voice faltered, and Aziraphale squeezed his hand encouragingly. “—now I have a chance to have a real family, and I want that with you. But I don’t want you to do it out of obligation. It’s my dream, not yours.”

Encouraged that Crowley hadn’t let go of his hand, Aziraphale lay down next to him and looked up into the circle of stars above them. Aware of the importance of this conversation, he considered his words before speaking. 

“It’s been drilled into me since I was young that I was expected— no, _required_ to have children, that it was my duty to continue the royal line. I felt so much resentment that I didn’t have the freedom to have a choice like other people do, that I never really gave much thought as to what I actually might feel about being a father.” 

He sighed. “To be honest, even thinking about it now is rather intimidating, I don’t know the first thing about raising children, how to talk to them, or even how to hold a baby so that I don’t drop it on it’s head. I— I would want to be a better parent than mine were but I can’t help feeling that I can’t be, because I don’t know how.”

He turned his head to look at Crowley, who had shifted on his side to face him. “It has been on my mind though, as more than just an obligation. I looked in the library last week thinking that there has to be some kind of instruction manual about parenting. Can you believe there was almost nothing there? The one book I found was all about replacing the ‘coddling’ of children with ‘psychological interest and moral solicitude’ which was primarily advised to be achieved by regular physical punishment. I was so disgusted I very nearly threw the book across the room. A _book!_ ” Indignation colored his voice at the sheer audacity of his impulse to mistreat a book. 

Crowley chuckled softly and Aziraphale took that as encouragement to also turn on his side and shift closer. He inhaled the scent of spiced apples as Crowley tilted his neck accommodatingly, letting it fill his nostrils and further soothe the restless beast within him. 

“For all of my uncertainty, I’ve been having these— urges to see you pregnant carrying our child that I’ve never felt before which is… disconcerting to me. I find myself daydreaming of seeing our little red haired children running about, and being rather terrified as to what to do if that was reality.”

He fell silent, not sure of what else to say. 

Crowley took his hand and squeezed in encouragingly. “When Anathema was pregnant with Owen she mentioned to me that she was afraid that she would be a good parent. I was surprised at that at the time; she’s such a strong and confident Alpha I had a hard time imagining that she would be scared about anything. But now that I’m older I think maybe it’s natural to worry about something this important that you’ve never done before. 

I also have worries. What do I know about raising children, let alone royal ones? I know I have so much love to give them but how do I also give them structure and guidance so they grow up to be good and kind and not spoiled and self entitled like Ligur and Hastur because they can have their every wish granted? 

But then I remember that I have Anathema and Newton that will give me advice, and I have Tracy in my life again to help me, and that maybe I might have a husband by my side to work things out with me. That although we won’t be perfect, and we’ll make mistakes, but we can learn from them together.” 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale earnestly. “Look, I— I don’t expect you to suddenly want children overnight, but I have a proposal. Maybe you can think about it and we can talk about it some more before we actually agree together that’s what we’re going to do?”

Aziraphale reached out to caress Crowley’s cheek. “I like the sound of that.” He leaned forward to kiss him softly, then said, “Well, there’s one thing I can fix right now.” He stood, holding a hand down to Crowley, who took it, puzzled, and let himself be pulled up. 

Aziraphale bowed over their joined hands with a courtly bow and said, “Greetings. I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced. My name is Crown Prince Aziraphale Angelus. I enjoy reading until I quite forget how much time has passed, fine food far more than I should, taking long walks, and mysterious handsome red haired men.”

He was gratified to see a smile play at the edges of the Crowley’s lips. “Men, as in plural? Got a harem of redheads stashed away that I should know about?”

“But of course,” he replied with a sniff. “And they feed me hand peeled grapes and sweep the ground before me as I walk so that my royal feet are spared the indignity of touching dirt like a commoner.”

Crowley laughed outright, Aziraphale chuckling with him. As his laughter subsided Crowley looked at him with eyes that sparkled in the moonlight. “It’s nice to meet you, your Highness. My name is Lord Anthony Crowley— god, it still feels weird to add ‘Lord’ to that— I enjoy riding horses, gardening, looking at the stars, and apparently royals, or at least one particular royal that I need more than I need to draw breath.”

Aziraphale felt the impulse to crush Crowley to him with that statement but refrained, merely saying, “It’s Prince Anthony Crowley now.”

“Ugh, That’s even weirder.” Crowley complained. 

“In any case, it’s lovely to finally be properly introduced my dear.” Retaining his hold on Crowley’s hand, he sank to one knee before him.

“From the moment we met I was drawn to you. And the more I got to know you, the more I became convinced, to the marrow of my bones, that you complete a part of me I never knew was hollow and empty until the feel of you in my arms finally filled me. I know I made a complete and utter mess of things and I’m going about it all backwards, but, well, here we are. My dearest darling…” Aziraphale’s voice quieted, becoming heavy with intent. “you are the love of my life. I love you more than I ever imagined I could love anything and can’t imagine a life without you by my side.”

Crowley’s breath caught like a fly in honey at the sudden surge of thick emotion that clung between them. 

Aziraphale’s eyes glittered in the moonlight like stars as he gazed up at him. “My dearest Lord Anthony Crowley. Please allow me to ardently admire and love you for the rest of my life. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

A silence hung heavy in the air between them, then a dam burst within Crowley, almost painfully flooding him with the visceral need for the man kneeling patiently before him. He finally managed to unhinge his jaw enough to choke out, “ _Yes_ , a thousand times _yes_ , angel. I love you, I love you, _I love you_.” 

He pulled Aziraphale up and to him, seeking out his mouth to draw into a deep kiss. Aziraphale’s hands found their way to the back of his head and to the small of this back, holding him firmly against that solid body with an easy strength that sizzled through him. Crowley felt a scorching heat rise within him; his aching need soothed by his Alpha kissing him thoroughly with possessive licks of his tongue as if he could claim him with his mouth alone. 

When Aziraphale moved to kiss his jaw, working his way down to his neck, Crowley murmured, “It’s almost too bad we’re already married.”

Aziraphale leaned back the bare minimum to regard him consideringly, still holding him tightly to his chest. “Mmm. We’re married under the eyes of the Church, but let me marry you again, here, now, under the stars, just the two of us. This time with no misunderstandings and full awareness of our pledge to each other.”

Crowley’s voice gusted out of him in a punched out whisper. “ _Yes._ ”

Aziraphale smiled at him with an impossible tenderness that somehow strengthened the possessive look still glinting like diamonds in his eyes. “Give me your ring my darling.”

He loosened his grip to allow Crowley to pull off his ring and hand it to Aziraphale, who in turn gave him his. Aziraphale glanced up at the starry sky, then back down to gaze into the eyes of his husband. 

“I, Aziraphale Angelous, take you, Anthony Crowley, as my husband from this day forward. I pledge to take turns leading and following, to try my best to protect you only when you need it, and to build a warm and loving home with you.” 

Crowley smiled with joy radiating from his eyes. 

“I, Anthony Crowley, take you, Aziraphale Angelous, as my husband from this day forward. I pledge to never give up on us, to weave our strengths and weakness such that we will be stronger together, and to be your mate and partner in life and everything life brings us.”

Unlike the brief formal press of lips at their wedding, the kiss they exchanged now to seal their union was long and deep. And as it progressed Aziraphale couldn’t help himself from turning it possessive; his hand slid into the back of Crowley’s head and tightened in his hair as he pulled Crowley tightly to him with the other. He tried to control himself by moving from Crowley’s enticing lips down to his neck but breathing in his scent only increased his desire as his cock swiftly hardened in his breeches. 

When he nipped at his neck Crowley clutched at him with a whine. “Alpha.. my husband, please… claim me, make me yours.”

Aziraphale growled against his neck, making Crowley shudder helplessly in his arms. “I don’t want to go too fast for you.”

Crowley turned his head into Aziraphale and growled right back, “I swear to God Aziraphale if you don’t go very fast very soon I might push you down and take you myself. I _need_ you to claim me.”

Aziraphale caught his breath, a heartbeat passed, then another, and then he let go. His hands flew to Crowley’s waistcoat to unbutton it, but became frustrated with the slowness of sliding each button free so he impatiently grasped the edges and pulled hard. Crowley inhaled sharply as the fabric ripped and buttons flew off. Aziraphale pushed it off of his shoulders, tossing it to the side and then roughly pulled Crowley’s cravat off. As his hands were busily tearing the clothes off of Crowley’s receptive body his mouth was occupied with kissing him deeply, mouthing at his neck, and nipping at his newly exposed skin. The shirt received the same treatment; rather than taking the time to pull it over Crowley’s head he grasped ahold of the collar and ripped it down the middle in satisfaction, pushing the tattered halves off and flinging it to the ground. The breeches and smallclothes followed, the sounds of tearing fabric loud in the quiet of the night as waves of arousal washed over Crowley at the sensation of his Alpha manhandling him, but with an unmistakable edge of gentleness in his touch.

When Aziraphale finally removed the last of Crowley’s clothing he pulled back to take in the sight of Crowley’s nude form gleaming in the moonlight. His hands gripped Crowley’s hips tightly as he leaned forward to let the scent of spiced apples permeate his senses, then stepped back reluctantly to work on removing his own clothing, yanking them off in swift rough movements. 

Crowley slowly lowered himself down to his knees, golden eyes locked with his husband’s as he reached back to pull out his hair tie and shake his hair loose so that it fell in waves around his shoulders. 

Aziraphale barely registered some of the tearing of his own clothes in his haste to remove them at the sight of his Omega kneeling before him, his gorgeous hair loose and wanton around his face. Impatiently kicking the last of his clothing away he came to his husband, kissing him hungrily as he pushed him back to cover him with his body. He grasped Crowley’s wrists and placed them above his head, pinning them there as he possessed his mouth in a demanding kiss, swallowing Crowley’s whimper of submission as he rolled their groins together. By the time he broke off thrusting his tongue into Crowley’s mouth while matching the slide of their cocks together Crowley was writhing beneath him, panting. He pleaded, “Alpha, _please_ , I’m ready!”

Hearing his mate begging to be taken made Aziraphale growl and bite down reflectively on the shoulder he had his mouth on, which caused Crowley to arch and gasp underneath him. He shifted enough to move his hand down between them, his fingers brushing against Crowley’s erection causing him to buck into his hand, then down further to press a finger against Crowley’s entrance. He pressed in experimentally and his finger slipped in easily. Crowley gasped and his legs fell apart instinctively in invitation. He moved his finger in as far as it would go, pausing to let Crowley get used to the sensation before moving in and out as Crowley trembled and mewled underneath him. Aziraphale tried to draw it out, make the experience good for his husband, but then Crowley started pulling at him urgently, writhing in unmistakable need that shredded any remnant of self control.

He moved his hand away and lifted up Crowley’s legs to wrap around him, then lined up his achingly hard cock against Crowley’s entrance. Looking into Crowley’s eyes he pushed in, gritting his teeth with the effort to go slowly. He paused as his cockhead breached his entrance, leaning their foreheads together, and whispered in the small space between them, “Are you— is this all right?”

Crowley whispered back, hushed as if he was reverent, “Yes. _Yes_. Oh angel… I love you.” 

“My dearest love. And I you.” He reached up to cradle Crowley’s head in his hand as he slowly pressed in until he was fully sheathed. Crowley made a hitched gasp of pleasure, then surged up to meet his mouth as Aziraphale began to slowly and steadily thrust into him. 

He felt like he was claiming his mate with each thrust of his hips, his passion increasing as he felt Crowley figure out how to match his rhythm, meeting him with an upward tilt of his hips, his arms and legs wrapped around him. 

His drive to fully possess his mate was nearly overwhelming and he found himself thrusting harder and deeper, his teeth almost aching with the desire to bite hard at the shoulder he was mouthing until he realized what he was doing. He paused, shaking with the effort of controlling himself as he growled, “I— I think it would be best if you took over the pace my darling. I don’t want to be rough with you on your first time.”

Crowley whispered, “Yes Alpha.”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley deeply, then pulled away and lay on the blanket, positioning Crowley to straddle him.

“Up on your knees dear boy, here, I’ll help you.” 

Crowley braced himself on Aziraphale’s broad chest as he lined himself over the hard cock Aziraphale held steady for him.

“Nyuh, uh, _oh!_ ” Wordless noises escaped from Crowley as he slowly sank down until Aziraphale was fully sheathed inside of him.

“Oh sweet _Heaven_ you feel so good my love. I’m going to guide you, but you decide how fast or slow you want to go,” Aziraphale said breathlessly.

As he spoke Aziraphale drank in the sight of his husband on top of him, who looked like some kind of ethereal fairy creature in the moonlight. Crowley’s pale skin glistened with sweat, his hair fell in delightful disarray around his shoulders, his lips were enticingly kiss swollen, and his eyes were luminous pools of desire. Aziraphale could hardly believe he was married to this enchanting creature astride him. He placed one hand on Crowley’s slim hip, the other around the cock straining towards him and guided Crowley to start moving in a rhythm that he matched with the sliding glide of his fist on Crowley’s cock. 

Crowley’s hips moved forward and back with increasing frequency as his head fell forward, his hair swaying with the movement of his body, small sounds of ecstasy tumbling from his lips. Aziraphale didn’t think he had ever seen anything as arousing as his husband riding him, taking his pleasure even as Aziraphale pleasured him. His own climax was hovering on the brink but he willed himself to focus on his husband, thrusting up into him, keeping a steady rhythm with his fist. Crowley rocked onto him faster, and faster, his cries increasing in volume and frequency until finally he let out a shout, pulsing in Aziraphale’s hand, spend flowing hot over his fingers. The rhythmic contraction around Aziraphale’s cock made his own orgasm burst forth as he bucked up into his husband, Crowley’s name on his lips like a prayer.

Crowley collapsed on him, panting, while Aziraphale caressed his back with his clean hand and pressed kisses onto his face. 

It was a while before either of them spoke, and even then it took Crowley a few tries to push words out. “Ngk. Th— ngh— that was— oh god, that was—” he paused and tried again. “That was the single most intense orgasm I have ever experienced in my entire life.”

“Mmm.” Aziraphale smiled with a touch of smug self satisfaction as he nuzzled into his husband. “It was pretty wonderful for me as well, although I’m the slightest bit envious of the ability of Omega’s to have multiple orgasms. I’ll just have to satisfy myself by making you have them at frequent intervals.”

Crowley groaned. “You just might kill me. I’m done for, never going to be able to walk again. They’ll find our corpses picked clean here someday because I can’t move.”

Aziraphale said with amusement, “If you’re still too overcome I can just carry you back to the house.”

Crowley nosed at Aziraphale’s neck. “You won’t get an argument from me on that.” He relaxed further onto him, shifting his legs down to a more comfortable position.

“In case we do manage to ever walk again, Anathema said we can stay at her house tonight. I’d like that, if you don’t mind. You could meet Owen.”

“Certainly my dear. I look forward to it. I may need to send someone to the castle for clothes for us though, I have a suspicion I may have quite ruined ours.”

Crowley snickered. “I never thought I’d see the day you literally tore my clothes off. I loved it. I love you.”

“I love you too my Omega.”

“My Alpha,” Crowley sighed in contentment.

Aziraphale pulled the edges of the blanket over them as they nuzzled each other and exchanged soft kisses.

~*~O~*~

In the morning as usual Aziraphale woke well before Crowley. He lay in the bed for a time relishing the feel of Crowley wrapped around him but eventually as he didn’t have a book to distract him he grew restless. As he slowly started to extricate himself Crowley automatically tightened his arms in protest, a discontented furrow appearing on his brow. Aziraphale smiled to himself and softly kissed his sleeping husband as he persisted, tucking the comforter around him securely as Crowley curled around a pillow as a substitute. 

He inwardly sighed at the state of his clothes as he put them on. He had to give up his waistcoat as a lost cause as the buttons had been ripped off in his haste to remove it, but the rest of his clothes were mostly presentable, just a little torn in places. At least they weren’t in tatters like Crowley’s clothes; a thought that made his inner Alpha swell with pride. He didn’t regret a second of it, but mused with amusement that perhaps it would be best to restrain himself from literally tearing his husband’s clothes off when they were without a spare set. Last night Crowley had wrapped himself in the blanket on the walk back to the Pulcifier’s and they were giggling like school children on their way to the guest bedroom, each shushing each other in an effort not to wake the household.

Smoothing down his wrinkled clothes as best he could, he ventured out into the manor with the objective to see if he could encounter a servant to arrange to borrow some clothes for Crowley. Perhaps Lord Pulcifier could be accommodating. 

He followed sounds to the kitchen and peered in to see a broad woman with her back to the door, kneading bread dough. He tapped on the door frame to announce his presence and the women glanced over her shoulder, then turned with a frown upon seeing a stranger. 

“Good morning,” he said with his most pleasant smile. “The Lady of the house gave me leave to stay over last night, and as it was a rather unexpected arrangement I’m in need of a few supplies. Could you be of assistance or direct me to the right person?”

As he spoke the woman’s eyes grew increasingly rounder and she opened her mouth as if to speak but all that came out was a strangled squeak. Aziraphale shifted on his feet, recognizing that the poor woman appeared to be be rather overcome by the sight of the prince appearing out of nowhere in her kitchen, a sight she probably thought was about as likely to happen as mice lining up on the floor and asking quite politely if they could have a nibble of cheese. He tried to think of what reassuring thing he could say when he was rescued by Anathema coming into the kitchen. 

“Rosamond, do you have any leftover blueberry bread? Owen wants— oh, your Highness!” Anathema stopped, then paused uncertainly and dropped into a deep curtsy as best she could with a three year old in her arms. 

“Oh, no need for that,” Aziraphale said hastily, waving his hands. “I would love nothing more than for you to treat me the same as you do Crowley, no ceremony required. In fact,” he added somewhat shyly, “you can just call me Aziraphale. If you’d like. I mean, I would like that. If you would.” he finished somewhat awkwardly. 

He tried to look as non threatening as possible. He knew that Anathema and Newton were dear friends of Crowley’s and he found himself wistful at the thought of having actual friends that weren’t dazzled by his title or wanted something from him other than himself. 

Anathema’s expression of surprise softened as she considered him. She seemed to be looking past him as her eyes traveled around the edges of his body and he held his breath in the irrational fear that her consideration would confirm that he was lacking in some manner. Finally her eyes met his and she nodded decisively. 

“Are you hungry, ah, Aziraphale? Owen and I eat early as this little rascal is up before most of the rest of the household. You could join us if you’d like.”

Aziraphale beamed. “It seems that Owen and I have that in common. I would love to join you, Lady Anathema.”

Anathema shook her head with a smile as she shifted her son to her other hip. “Just Anathema’s fine. Rosamond, blueberry toast, if you have it? Then perhaps some fried eggs and beans with sausage?” she asked, looking at Aziraphale in query. 

Aziraphale nodded to indicate that would be fine, and Rosamond seemed grateful to have the royal presence leave her kitchen as Aziraphale followed Anathema out to the dining room. Anathema went to the sideboard where a tea set was waiting and tried to set Owen down who had been staring at Aziraphale in wide eyed silence. But as she started to disengage him he clung tighter and protested.

“Owen, stop. I need to set you down so I can pour tea. Listen to Mama please.”

Owen was very much disinclined to cooperate and just clung tighter with the determination of a spider monkey as she tried to pull him away from her and his face scrunched up with a clearly imminent wail of protest. Aziraphale walked over with the thought that he could help by pouring tea for them. 

“Here, let me help.” But as he drew close and his hands reached for the teapot Owen looked up at him and flung his arms out, leaning out of his mother’s arms towards him. Aziraphale paused, startled, and looked up at Anathema, who looked equally surprised but shrugged as if to say _it’s up to you._

Aziraphale looked down at Owen’s clear expectation that of course any adult he chose would pick him up if he demanded it and slowly reached out his hands, taking Owen from Anathema with a small grunt as the child was heavier than he looked. He settled him on his hip as he had observed Anathema do and Owen settled against his chest, wrapping his little arms around him. 

He looked down at the boy in his arms with some amount of bewilderment as to how this happened. His chest felt a little tight, a sort of expanding feeling outward where there was a shift deep within him and a sensation of _Oh, there it is_. As if he finally found something he hadn’t realized he had been missing. 

And it was there that Crowley found him a short time afterwards. He walked into the dining room wearing what appeared to be Newton’s clothes that hung a little loose on his lanky frame. His eyes widened in surprise at seeing Owen on Aziraphale’s lap, but as soon as Owen spotted Crowley he immediately launched himself down, running over. 

“Crowey!” he shrieked. 

“Hey, how’s my favorite troublemaker?” Crowley grinned, picking him up and swinging him high in the air while Owen giggled. 

As Aziraphale watched his smiling husband hold Owen he felt a new sort of joy bloom within his chest. A desire to hold their own child together with as much love as he was seeing before him rose up so swiftly he caught his breath. Crowley was right, he needed to think more about their future, and they needed to talk about it, but for the first time in his life he felt a true desire to find out what having a family would be like, with his husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Perhaps the ending of this chapter seemed rather convenient, but I know someone this happened to; who felt somewhat ambivalent about the idea of having children until one day to her surprise a little boy in the arms of a casual acquaintance reached out his arms to her unprompted. And when she held him and looked into his big brown eyes she swore it was like a switch flipped and suddenly her ambivalence turned into a kind of wonderment certainty that she knew she wanted to have children. And eventually, she did. That story always stuck with me, and now I got to write it. :)_
> 
> _I would like to thank MJ_Riedle for giving me some feedback on the proposal scene (that was soooo hard for me to figure out how to write something romantic but not too mushy!)._   
> 


	22. Plans and Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you all endlessly for your continued love and support. This story has been more interactive than any I have written so far and I have been utterly delighted with so many of the wonderful and creative suggestions by my readers. I've had a great deal of fun incorporating the ideas when it made sense in the story to do so, and it's become a stronger story for it, so thank you, thank you, thank you, for this truly delightful partnership, I have enjoyed it immensely. And I was even gifted artwork for it by Aikosakura! I am still giddy about that. :)_
> 
> _I have been laughing a at myself because almost every chapter has smut in it now. Its as if I ran out of plot. D3s3rtb0undN3k0matta pointed out that physical manifestations of relationships is of valid use in a plot, so I didn't run out, just had the sexy bits to express it instead. Ha, I probably really did run out of plot but I'll go with their theory and pretend otherwise. And these characters desperately want to shag each other repeatedly; so who am I to deny them?_

Shortly after they returned from the Pulcifier’s, Aziraphale went to his mother. He made grand sweeping demands that she instantly take steps to protect Omegas, insisting that the Crown was failing in their appointed duty to protect all of those under their rule. To Aziraphale’s frustration, the Queen listened, but refused to make any promises; with a biting edge of command when he persisted with his protests, merely saying that she would take the matter under advisement. 

Aziraphale went back to their bedchambers, fuming at the lack of action, but Crowley worked on calming his husband and suggested patience. He reasoned that it wouldn’t go well for their cause if the two Alphas clashed over this and that perhaps they could approach her together once the Queen had some time to think the matter over.

Several weeks later the Queen summoned Crowley to her presence. After she dismissed all of her attendants she asked him to tell her of his experience as an Omega in the Morningstar House. Haltingly at first, and then with increasing confidence as she looked at him without judgement, he related all of what had happened to him since his father had died. 

He couldn’t bring himself to fully look at her as he told his story, although he did catch out of the corner of his eye her thin pressed lips and furrowed brow as he described the abuse he had endured. She remained silent, giving him the courtesy of her full regard until he finished with Aziraphale’s rescue. He left out any mention of the Pulcifier’s involvement in his deception at the balls and the elixir, and although she raised an eyebrow at the omission she didn’t ask any questions on that matter. 

When he finished Crowley fell silent, fidgeting uneasily. Despite Aziraphale’s vehement assurances to the contrary, he still struggled with feeling vaguely ashamed of what had happened to him, like it was somehow his fault, despite his rational mind telling him otherwise. The Queen was quiet for a time. He was enormously relieved when she shifted her focused gaze from him to the glass inset patio doors. She stood and walked past Crowley in a rustle of blue taffeta skirts to pull them open and then look out over the palace gardens. 

Crowley wasn’t sure if he was expected to say anything more, but since he couldn’t think of what to say, remained silent as the Queen remained still, apparently fascinated by the unimaginative symmetrical greenery. Eventually she glanced at him, and seeming to sense his unease, finally spoke while still facing the gardens.

“What happened to you was deplorable and I am ashamed to realize this late in my reign that I have been so remiss in my duties to protect my most vulnerable subjects. I assure you that I will take steps to rectify the regrettable oversight. However, my power is not absolute and changes to the law of this magnitude must be done with the support of the House Council, which is largely composed of pompous windbags resistant to any change that doesn’t benefit them.”

Crowley blinked in surprise at the Queen’s frank statement. 

“But there are some things I can do. Even though the laws currently stand as they are I will let it be known that all of my subjects, including Omegas, should be protected from abuse and I will be exceedingly displeased with anyone who does not obey my wishes.”

That didn’t sound like much, which probably reflected on Crowley’s face although he struggled to remain respectful. The Queen turned to face him and crossed her arms as she acknowledged, “Yes, I know that does not solve the problem. But do not underestimate my determination. There is a great deal I can do to make things quite… _unpleasant_ for an individual that displeases me.”

She tapped her fingers thoughtfully on her arm then said, “It just so happens that you are the sole living heir to the Crowley House. Although you cannot inherit as an Omega the law states that your father’s title and a portion of his assets pass to you, to be held until you marry and your spouse assumes control of them. To that point, you have always been a noble in the eyes of the law, and there are very strong laws to protect nobles against abuse, which were, unsurprisingly, written by nobles themselves,” she added wryly. 

Crowley took that in. He had always assumed he had no rights, no way to protect himself, that he was valued less than a servant in the eyes of the law. 

“So what does that mean?”

The Queen’s pale blue eyes hardened. “It means that I am most displeased that two of my subjects, particularly those of a noble House, _dared_ to treat another of my subjects, especially one who is now a member of my family, in such a manner. As the Duchess is not only responsible for her actions but also those of her heir, the law states that she can be put on trial by her peers.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. A trial?

She continued, “The Lords are not fond of convicting one of their own, so it may be nothing will come from a trial. However, as it becomes very clear that she is not welcome here and has lost the favor of the Crown, the Morningstars will quickly find they are no longer invited to events at the other Houses. She will lose the power and influence she has so dearly enjoyed, which will likely be the worst punishment she could endure.”

Crowley was stunned. Ever since his conversation with Anathema he couldn't stop thinking about how he could help make life better for Omegas and had many deep conversations with Aziraphale over the past few weeks about it, but it had never occurred to him that his stepmother could be punished for what she had done to him. The thought made him somehow uneasy, although he couldn’t put his finger on why. Certainly she and Ligur deserved it, and if it prevented them from using their power to abuse someone else… he thought of the other person in the Morningstar line.

“Lady Hester. She… unlocked my door so that I was able to get to Aziraphale when he came looking for me. Although she’s not as... kind as she could be that’s likely due to the examples she was following. She didn’t hit me, and in her own way, she even sometimes tried to help.”

The Queen arched an eyebrow. “You may be kinder than she deserves. But she is attractive and wealthy, so I should be able to arrange for a decent position for her.”

Crowley nodded. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

The Queen regarded him thoughtfully. “It speaks to a significant strength of character that you did not lose yourself in that situation, which I have the utmost respect for. And your experience will be valuable when it comes to advocating for the well being of our subjects. 

I confess that I had my reservations when my son insisted on marrying you, but it has become clear to me that he is stronger with you as his husband. So, perhaps, you are not only what he needs, but what the kingdom needs as well. Once you have children, I will rest easy knowing that the kingdom will be in good hands when I no longer rule.”

Crowley had no idea what to say to that. Should he thank her? Assure her that he’d get to work on providing an heir right away? A picture sprang into his mind of striding into the Small Council session Aziraphale was at and announcing that the members had to leave forthwith so that his husband could work on impregnating him right there on the council table. He had to stifle a wildly inappropriate snigger at imagining the look on their prudish faces. 

Fortunately the Queen didn’t seem to expect a response. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Anthony. You have given me much to think about.”

Recognizing the dismissal, Crowley bowed and left, his mind whirling. He walked down to the other end of the castle and slipped into the room where Aziraphale was in session with the Small Council. Snagging a chair set to the side, he placed it next to his husband to sit as close to him as he could manage without seeming too obvious that he wanted to plaster himself to his Alpha’s side. Aziraphale glanced at him with a small welcoming smile, then turned his attention back to the Treasurer who was reading a report that seemed to have something to do with a tax on spices. 

Crowley was mostly ignored by the members of the Council, with the exception of a few that surreptitiously looked at him disapprovingly. They were among those that had strongly objected to his presence the first time he joined Aziraphale at the Council, but Aziraphale had immediately reacted with regal fury, telling them in no uncertain terms that as the future co-ruler his husband would be allowed to attend any session he wished and if they didn’t like that then he would be more than happy to find a replacement for their position. 

Crowley sprawled into his chair, smirking at the ill concealed annoyed looks. He didn’t come often as the topics were rather dry and over his head but he liked to see the part Aziraphale played in governing the kingdom. Also, each time he came he absorbed a little more on how complex it was to keep a kingdom running, which he figured would be helpful when Aziraphale ascended the throne someday. He spent more of his recent time attending meetings that had to do with the day to day running of the castle, slowly starting the process of untangling the bloated excess of servants and hierarchy of duties that comprised the staff. 

But he was too unsettled by his conversation with the Queen to keep track of what they were discussing today, so he let his mind wander as his hand moved over to slide under Aziraphale’s. That caused Aziraphale to look at him again, his eyebrows raised in query, but Crowley shook his head slightly with a small reassuring smile.

When Aziraphale closed out the session and the door closed behind the last member Crowley finally let himself press up against his Alpha, his nose buried against his neck to inhale his reassuring scent. Aziraphale’s arms immediately wrapped around him. 

“What happened?”

Crowley sighed against his neck. “Your mother summoned me.”

Aziraphale stiffened. “What did she say to you?” he asked sharply. 

“Oh, nothing bad, it’s not like that,” Crowley hastened to reassure him. “Although any time I’m around your mother I feel like I’m doing something wrong by not genuflecting with my nose pressed to the ground. She’s such a powerful Alpha it makes my skin itch to be in her presence. But that wasn’t the hardest part of seeing her today. She asked me to tell her about what my step family did to me.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said softly. “Come here my darling.” He pulled Crowley into his lap and cradled him against his chest. 

“Did you tell her?”

His voice muffled from where he was pressed into Aziraphale, he said, “It was hard, but yes. She actually said that my stepmother will be put on trial, and that she’s not welcome in the palace.”

“Of course she’s not welcome here. That’s been the case since the day I brought you home,” Aziraphale growled. “I’ve made it clear in no uncertain terms to my guard that woman will _never_ set foot in my home without being in serious danger of me ripping her throat out with my teeth.”

Crowley was taken aback by the unusual savagery in his husband’s voice, even as a small thrill of delight shivered down his spine at the display of fierce protectiveness. He pressed against Aziraphale a little harder, feeling some of his anxiety from talking about his past recede with his contact against his Alpha’s comforting solid form.

Aziraphale nuzzled into him, inhaling deeply before forcing himself to relax again. “I’m surprised she mentioned a trial; I didn’t think the Duchess broke any laws; dreadful as that is.”

Crowley told him what the Queen had said about how he had been a sort of heir in holding to his father’s House and what that meant.

Aziraphale took that news in, then said with a tinge of amazement to his voice, “I didn’t know that loophole for Omega’s existed; it’s very rare for an Omega to be the sole living heir. She must have ordered someone to dig through the laws to find that out. Goodness, that must mean she’s willing to support our cause! If she makes an example of the Duchess that’s a huge first step towards changing the way Omega’s are treated. Oh, Crowley, this may be the first thing she’s ever done in my life that has truly made me happy.”

Crowley smiled against him and lifted his head to press a kiss to his husband’s jaw. 

“She also mentioned us having children.”

“Of course she did,” Aziraphale said with a note of amusement. “I’m rather inclined to do that on our schedule however, not hers.” He nudged Crowley to sit upright so he could look into his eyes.

“I have been giving that particular topic quite a lot of consideration though my dearest, and I wanted to tell you that I’m ready when you are. And not for the reason of creating an heir, for the reason that I very much want to have a family with you.”

Crowley's eyes softened as he gazed at Aziraphale. “Oh, angel. Are you sure?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’m sure. To be honest, I still feel like I haven’t the foggiest idea on how to be a father and I’m still rather terrified I’ll be dreadful at it, but as long as I have you by my side I have faith that we’ll figure it out together.”

Love for the man who held him in his arms swelled up within Crowley until he felt as if he might burst from it. He grasped Aziraphale’s head in his hands, pulling him into a deep lingering kiss that made them both breathless by the time they broke apart. Aziraphale tugged down Crowley’s cravat so that he could nip lightly at his neck, causing a shivery thrill to flick down his body.

“Does this mean we’re going to begin working on that particular project now?” he rumbled against Crowley’s skin.

Crowley chuckled, wiggling against the erection he could feel hardening under his thigh. “Uh, well, I kind of feel like we’re still getting settled into being married, so I’d like to wait a little longer. But soon. In the meantime though,” he said with a smirk, “we should get a lot of practice, so that we get it right when we do start trying.”

“Mmmm, yes, practice. Sounds lovely.” Aziraphale purred as he deftly removed Crowley’s cravat and tossed it onto the table. “Shall we go to our bedchamber to start practicing?”

Crowley climbed off of Aziraphale’s lap and stood up to lean against the large sturdy wood table, his pulse speeding up at the hungry way his Alpha was eyeing him. “Well, actually, I had this little fantasy that you took me right here, on this table.”

Aziraphale spread his legs, showcasing the obvious erection outlined in the confines of his breeches. A slow smile spread across his face. “Is that so? I don’t think that door locks. Anyone could walk in and catch us in the act.”

Crowley licked his lips and managed a casual shrug despite the fact he was increasingly feeling deliciously wound up, the tightening coil of desire to submit to his Alpha spreading throughout his body. “So? Keep your clothes on so they won’t be blinded by the radiance of your exposed royal flesh.”

Aziraphale’s smile turned feral. “Would you like that my darling? Me taking you fully dressed, knowing that we could be discovered at any moment?”

Crowley’s own erection hardened even further at having his fantasy spoken out loud in that precisely enunciated voice. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded, his eyes fixed on his Alpha. 

“All right then. Drop your breeches.” 

Crowley’s hands fumbled at the buttons of his breeches, unable to look away from Aziraphale who watched him with dark hooded eyes, outwardly unaffected except for a flushing high on his cheeks and the prominent bulge at his groin. Crowley’s eyes traced the outline of that bulge, his hands slowing at the last button. Aziraphale followed his gaze. 

“Would you like to taste me?”

“Yes, _please_.”

Aziraphale caught his breath. “Well, when you ask so prettily, how can I refuse? Come here my darling boy.”

Crowley dropped to his knees between Aziraphale’s legs, grasping his thighs and leaning in close, inhaling his musky scent and rubbing his cheek against the confined bulge like a cat. He then sat back and undid the buttons, pulling the smallclothes down. He brought out the thick cock that was already glistening at the tip and ran his fingers lightly up and down the velvety smooth flesh. His mouth opening in anticipation, he bent down to enclose his lips over the head of it, his tongue swirling over the salty tang at the tip. 

He took his time enjoying the shape of the cockhead in his mouth, moving up and down slightly as he tonged at the flared edges. He could tell that Aziraphale was getting restless underneath him, wanting more as his hips flexed up minutely, but his Alpha let him set the pace, his hands gentle on his head. Crowley kept up the teasing for a little longer, then suddenly engulfed Aziraphale’s shaft as far as he could with sucking pressure, eliciting the groan of sheer pleasure from his husband that he delighted to hear. After that he lost himself in the rhythm of his task, immersed in the feeling of being on his knees and servicing his Alpha, of clearly bringing him pleasure as he heard breathless moans, felt hands tighten in his hair, the sensation of the firm yet soft flesh sliding in his mouth… 

This particular act had quickly become one of his favorite things to do to his Alpha although Aziraphale seldom let himself climax this way. Not that Crowley minded; he relished the feel of making his Alpha come undone into his mouth, but Aziraphale preferred the sensation of orgasm during intercourse. Crowley couldn’t argue about that too much since that method was utterly fantastic; but occasionally he persuaded Aziraphale into letting him service him in this manner until he came undone. 

But it seemed that today was not going to be one of those days as he felt the hands in his hair tug more insistently and he lifted up off of Aziraphale’s cock reluctantly. 

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed darling,” Aziraphale said breathlessly. “Much more of that and I won’t be able to fulfill your fantasy of taking you on the table, hmm?”

“Oh yeah.” The thought perked Crowley up considerably in more ways that one and after one last lick to his husband’s delectable cock he stood and resumed the task he had been given to drop his breeches. He turned and leaned over the table, resting his weight on his forearms, spreading his legs apart as he peered over his shoulder at his husband and wiggled his arse suggestively with a wicked smile.

Aziraphale stood somewhat unsteadily, his thick dark cock bobbing luridly as he walked to Crowley. 

“Oh my dear, you are a vision.” he said reverently, pushing the end of Crowley’s shirt up to expose his buttocks as he ran his fingers over the rounded flesh.

“Are you ready for me, my darling?” he asked as he slid a finger in easily.

Crowley keened softly at the welcome intrusion, pushing back against Aziraphale’s hand. 

“Goodness, yes, you are, aren’t you?” Aziraphale purred, his voice husky as he added a second finger. He used his other hand to spread Crowley’s legs wider before sliding underneath and gently fondle his tight bollocks. 

“Ngk, ugnyah, uh, _angel…!_ ” Crowley lowered his head to the table, relishing the feel of the cool surface against his flushed cheek. Those broad fingers stroked him until he was panting, then eventually withdrew. He felt the welcome press of Aziraphale’s cock against him, then pressing steadily into him until his Alpha was fully seated inside of him. Aziraphale’s hands moved to his hips, wrapping around his sides and holding him firmly as he began moving forward and back. 

“I’m going to be thinking about taking you like this at the next Council meeting, you naughty thing,” Aziraphale said in a low voice. “How am I _possibly_ going to be able to pay attention when I’ll be taking notes on the exact spot that I’m thrusting into your tight entrance, remembering how so very good it felt to be inside of you?” He punctuated his words with forward thrusts, each thrust increasing the steadily rising shimmery tension in Crowley’s body. God, he loved it when he got Aziraphale so wound up that he talked dirty to him, that prim and proper façade dropping away and leaving nothing but his Alpha behind. He cried out in ecstasy at a particularly firm upward thrust. 

“Shhh, my darling Omega,” Aziraphale admonished him in a whisper. “We don’t want anyone to come investigating strange noises, now do we?” 

“Or do you? Do you want to be caught, my naughty boy? Do you want to lie there, squirming in embarrassment when someone walks in and stares at you being taken by your Alpha? Because I won’t stop, you know. I’ll keep thrusting into you, marking you as mine until you come for me while they watch.” 

Aziraphale's relentless thrusting never wavered as he continued speaking in a low sticky sweet voice, bending over to murmur in Crowley’s ear which caused him to slip further into a writhing need to be possessed by his Alpha. He tried to make it better for Aziraphale by pushing his hips back onto his thrusting cock, but the hands on hips tightened, holding him in place. 

Aziraphale tutted at him, his casual voice at juxtaposition with the increased forcefulness of his thrusts while Crowley tried to muffle his keens into his arm. “None of that my dear. You wanted to be taken by your Alpha, and take you I shall. Oh, _yes_ , my darling Omega, you are _mine, mine, mine_.” 

One of his hands moved over to enclose Crowley’s achingly hard cock. It only took a few strokes with that darkly honeyed voice purring possessiveness in Crowley’s ear to push him over the edge. He cried out, his voice muffled against his forearm as his hips jerked forward into Aziraphale’s fist and his groin pulsed in bursts of intense pleasure as he came in shuddering relief onto the marble floor. Aziraphale’s hips snapped forward deep inside of him twice more, then he too, came with a shuddering groan before collapsing forward, resting his head against Crowley’s back. 

After catching his breath, all too soon Aziraphale slid out of him, tutting at Crowley’s half hearted protest. 

“That can’t be a comfortable position for much longer my darling. Let’s clean up as best we can— ugh, I think we’ll have to use your cravat, we didn’t exactly come prepared for this— then how about I call for a bath to be drawn for us?”

Crowley struggled to stand on wobbly legs, Aziraphale steadying him and helping him pull up his breeches and make himself presentable. 

Aziraphale kissed him fondly. “I really won’t be able to look at this table the same way again, you reprobate.”

Crowley smirked delightedly. “Just using my wiles so that you miss me when I’m not around.”

“Oh, Crowley. I always miss you when you’re not by my side,” Aziraphale said earnestly, all trace of playfulness gone from his expression. 

Crowley’s voice caught in his throat at the look in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Me too, angel.”

Aziraphale’s expression softened and he swatted Crowley’s backside. “Help me clean up and we’ll go take that bath.”

They left the room together, almost running into the maid coming in to clean the room after the council session. Bemused, she watched the princes turn bright red when they saw her and walk off hurriedly, muffling laughter behind their hands. Smirking, she quickly cleaned the room and then went to the kitchens. Upon entering the bustling room prepping for the evening meal, she scanned the room and upon spotting a broad apron clad woman who was chopping carrots she marched up with a grin, holding her hand out as she said “The princes just went at it in the council chambers. Pay up Margaret.”

Margaret huffed in annoyance. “I thought for sure they’d be caught in the library. Fine.” She waved her hand at the expectant maid. “I’ll get the money to you tomorrow. Off with you now, go pester someone else.” 

Chortling, the maid left the kitchen with a bounce to her step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Endless amounts of gratitude goes to D3s3rtb0undN3k0matta for ferreting out all of my typos and suggesting ways to make it read smoother. (I can re-read a chapter twenty times and still not see obvious things that need to be fixed so their help is immensely valuable). Also the end scene credit with the maid goes entirely to them; that was such a fun bit to include!_
> 
> _A teaser to my upcoming works:  
>  On 2/18, which is my ficaversary, (1 year anniversary of posting on AO3), I’ll be posting a one chapter story called **Summoning Desire** , which is a demon summoning kink fic._
> 
> _**The Omen of the Lamp** : Aladdin AU, with Crowley as the genie and Aziraphale as the Aladdin character. This is mostly at the outline stage, with the brainstorming help of the endlessly wonderfully creative and lovely Vios_Shadow._
> 
> _I have several other works in progress I’ll let you know about at the end of the next chapter._


	23. Morningstar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You all have ServantOfMischief to thank for this chapter, which did not exist when I originally wrote this story. But ServantOfMischief is a vicious little gremlin and wanted to see righteous fury and justice, so I wrote this for them. ServantOfMischief, perhaps it's not as bloodthirsty as you were hoping for, but it felt like it fit. :)_
> 
> _RosiePaw, I wrote the scene at the end of this chapter entirely for you, I hope you enjoy it. :)_
> 
> _A huge thank you to D3s3rtb0undN3k0matta for Beta-ing this chapter for me, I am forever grateful to have another set of eyes on it before it's released into the world._

Crowley tried to calm down his husband after Gabriel delivered the news that the House Lords dropped the charges against Duchess Morningstar. “It’s all right, Aziraphale.”

“It most certainly is _not_ all right!” Aziraphale spat out furiously as he paced in his study. “The bloody _gall_ of those pompous narrow minded piles of jackal scat! I can’t _believe_ they dropped the charges against her!”

“The charges were flimsy at best,” Gabriel said dismissively. “The Houses are not inclined to punish one of their own, sets bad precedent for when it’s their turn to be judged. I told you it was unlikely anything would come of that. The fact of the matter is that Duchess Morningstar is untouchable so you need to move onto things that you can make changes to.”

“Like what?” Crowley asked, getting up and sliding his arm around his husband so Aziraphale could lean into him to inhale his scent to help calm himself down.

“Her Majesty wishes for new laws to give more protection to Omegas. The House Council is largely made up of Alphas, so the appeal needs to be made to their protective instincts. I think we should make proposals from the angle of Omegas being weak and needing protection by strong powerful Alphas. The Queen’s power is not absolute; she doesn’t have the authority to force changes this large, so we have to get buy in from the House Council.”

Crowley frowned. “I don’t like setting the tone of Omegas being weak and needing to be protected.”

Gabriel scoffed. “I thought that was the whole point of trying to change the laws. What is more important, that the Omega’s feelings are slighted in some fashion or that they get the legal protection you want?”

Crowley shot a glare at the advisor who appeared annoyingly unimpressed by his regard, and then looked at his husband who appeared thoughtful as he considered Gabriel’s words. “Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale slowly nodded. “As much as I hate to say it, I think Gabriel is right.”

Crowley sighed. He didn’t like Gabriel any more than Aziraphale did, but the advisor did know politics better than perhaps anyone else in the castle and the Queen had instructed him to advise them on this matter. 

Gabriel said, “It helps that the public is enamored of the story that was spun about Prince Aziraphale rescuing his betrothed from brigands. It’s almost all the bards are singing about in the taverns, they seem to think it’s—” he said the next word as if it pained him “— _romantic_ ,” he concluded with a disdainful sniff to convey what he thought of _that_ notion.

Crowley smiled at his husband. “I don’t remember much of it, but being rescued by a handsome prince is certainly something straight out of a romantic fairy tale.”

Aziraphale caught the thinly veiled look of disgust that came across Gabriel’s face, and hid a smirk as he lifted his husband’s hand up to his lips and kissed it tenderly. He deepened his voice as he looked into Crowley’s eyes adoringly and said “I’ll rescue you anytime you need it, my dearest love.”

Aziraphale barely managed to hold back his laughter as he watched Gabriel’s expression out of the corner of his eye. The advisor looked as if he had swallowed a lemon, his face pinched in distaste at the sight of the saccharine display of adoration. 

Pleased with himself, Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand and glanced at the clock. “Oh, it’s almost time for us to go meet with the head gardener.”

“It is?” Crowley said in puzzlement. For all that he enjoyed meeting with Philip he didn’t think Aziraphale ever had cause to accompany him. 

“I was thinking about how much you told me you enjoyed gardening and I was wondering— would you like your own greenhouse on the palace grounds? I had been planning to gift you with it as a surprise but then thought you might like a hand in designing it with the head gardener.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale in delight. “Why, that would be wonderful!”

As they spoke, Gabriel gathered his papers and stood to leave. As he tucked the last paper into his satchel he asked in an off handed tone, “Oh Prince Anthony, speaking of hobbies, did you know that his Highness collects misprint Bibles?”

Crowley looked over with interest and shook his head.

As he stepped towards the door Gabriel said “I was thinking perhaps you could start collecting misprint dictionaries, ones that are missing words like _‘proposal’_ and and _‘me’_ ; as in ‘will you marry _me_ ’, since no one in this room seems to be interested in the definition of those anyway.”

By the time they had fully registered what Gabriel had said the advisor had left the room. Aziraphale stepped forward with a thunderous look on his face as if to go after him, but Crowley grabbed his arm.

“Aziraphale. It’s not worth getting upset over.”

Aziraphale glared after the advisor. “I’m going to _kill_ him.”

Crowley chuckled. “You know, it _is_ a little funny. If I was in his shoes I probably wouldn’t be able to resist either. Besides, have you noticed he never brings it up unless we’re alone in the room? He’s only doing it because he gets entertainment from riling you up.”

Aziraphale reluctantly relaxed against Crowley, grumbling. “One of these days I’m going to let Tracy at him. From what you’ve told me I imagine she could take him down a peg or two.”

Crowley huffed out a surprised laugh. “I’ll not thank you for putting _that_ image in my head. Ugh. C’mon, let’s go meet with Philip.”  


~*~O~*~  


A month later Crowley was writing some letters of acceptance to social invitations. His eyes kept drifting to an envelope set to the side on his desk and he finally set down his pen and picked it up. He pulled out the thick sheet of paper inside to re-read it, then folded it and tapped it against the table thoughtfully. The words were short and to the point, and he rather thought it must have choked his stepmother to be as polite as the words appeared to be on the surface.

_It has been far too long since we discoursed and it is imperative that we meet at your earliest convenience..._

His lips twisted into a grimace. Even now she thought he was someone she could command to do her bidding. He hadn’t shown the letter to Aziraphale since it arrived yesterday, suspecting that his Alpha would have been enraged on his behalf, and Crowley wanted to… well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He was pleased to realize that he actually hadn’t thought all that much about his stepfamily since he had left; his primary emotion towards them being mostly relief that they weren’t a part of his life anymore. When a stray thought or unpleasant memory did slide in he did his best to think of other things, wanting to concentrate on his future with his husband rather than his past. But now this. 

He was tempted to ignore the letter, but since it had arrived his mind kept returning to it, picking at it like a scab itching underneath the surface of his thoughts. He was not so naive to think that he was fully healed under that scab, and wasn’t sure if meeting with his stepmother would cause those wounds to fester or help rinse them clean. 

He turned his gold wedding ring around on his finger as he thought, then, coming to a decision, he picked up the pen to write. 

~*~O~*~

Crowley scowled at his reflection in annoyance. Although there were many aspects of royal life he didn’t know if he would ever get used to; wearing fine clothing was one that he took to like a duck to water. Free to wear whatever pleased him for the first time since he was a young child, he reveled in selecting his own wardrobe, favoring the dark colors of his House that looked striking against his pale skin and auburn hair. 

He eschewed some of the more foppish ornate styles favored by the aristocracy that he privately felt looked ridiculous and kept to a tailored clean cut that followed the lean lines of his body, with complementing trim that was understated but enhanced the overall elegance. Master Harrington was at first skeptical of allowing Crowley’s input on his own wardrobe designs, but after he begrudgingly accepted that Crowley had a good eye for style he magnanimously reviewed sketches and revisions with him until they came up with designs that pleased them both. 

It didn’t hurt that his husband was openly admiring of his elegant appearance, and on more than one occasion very demonstrative of his admiration, although Crowley loved to tease Aziraphale that if he claimed to enjoy his new clothes so much, insisting on peeling them off of him was a funny way of showing it. 

A particular article of clothing that Crowley had lately been experimenting with was various complicated ways to tie his cravat. But this morning as he peered into the mirror he was dissatisfied with every effort he made with the length of white silk until he was just about ready to yank the blasted thing off of his neck and go about his day without one. He supposed that would be slightly scandalous for a prince but he firmly believed that anyone who was bothered by it really didn’t have their priorities straight in life.

“Here, let me my dear.” Aziraphale stepped in and straightened the ends of his cravat, tying it into a simple traditional knot and tucking the ends into Crowley’s waistcoat before securing it with a cravat pin. His hands lingered on Crowley’s waistcoat, smoothing down the claret colored brocade. 

“Sometimes it’s all right to go back to the simpler ways for a time,” Aziraphale said with a smile. 

“Harumph. It’s not right that an inanimate piece of fabric gets the best of me,” Crowley grumbled. “I should light it on fire in front of all of my other cravats to teach them a lesson they won’t forget.”

“Oh my. Well, I suppose being thwarted by neckwear does call for drastic measures,” Aziraphale said mildly. He stepped in closer, lifting his arms to encircle Crowley lightly. 

He tilted his head to look into Crowley’s eyes and softly said, “I hope you know that you can talk to me about anything that might be bothering you.”

Crowley tensed and looked sharply into Aziraphale’s face. He hesitated, then said, “You know she’s coming today, don’t you?”

Aziraphale looked back at him. “Yes,” he said simply.

“Ah, I— it’s just— I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it, I just don’t know what to think, let alone say—” Crowley floundered, his anxiety rising.

Aziraphale stepped closer to enfold Crowley in his arms. “Shh, shh, it’s perfectly all right my love. This is your life; I’m not here to dictate how you live it, just support you through it. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, my darling, but please know that I am here for you anytime you need me.”

Crowley turned his head into Aziraphale’s neck, letting the soothing sunshine scent wash through him. He lifted his head to lean their foreheads against each other. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. 

“Of course dearheart, whatever you need. May I be there to support you?”

Crowley did want that, but shook his head. “I… need to feel like I did this on my own, not hiding behind my Alpha.”

Aziraphale let out a sigh in the small space between them. “It will be hard on my instincts to let you go without me, but of course I will abide by your wishes.”

They were silent for a moment, then Aziraphale lifted his head and said lightly, “I think this will call for something special tonight. Perhaps an intimate dinner in our bedchamber followed by dessert? Hmm, I think that a bath will be quite necessary after dessert, I’ll arrange for the staff to bring in the hot water.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow as he said. “What is this dessert you have in mind that will apparently be so messy we’ll need a bath afterwards?”

“Oh, nothing fancy, just an assortment of dessert sauces I plan to lick from your naked body in front of the fire,” Aziraphale said with a perfectly straight face that morphed into a smirk as Crowley broke into delighted laughter. 

Chuckling, Crowley pressed a kiss to his husband and said earnestly, “I love you, so much I can barely breathe sometimes.”

“And I you, my love. I had no idea I was missing half of my life until I met you.” Aziraphale paused, then said with an edge of command, “If you need me at any time today do not hesitate to find or send for me. I will instantly drop whatever I’m doing if you need me.”

Crowley nodded, shifting closer to bask in the feel of being held securely in his Alpha’s arms before separating to face what the day held.

Crowley entered the empty throne room with a small entourage of staff, not because he needed them but because he figured it would help make a point. He gingerly sat down on the smaller ornate chair assigned to him on the few occasions he had to be part of some sort of formal event, still feeling that sense of unrealism that plagued him with regularity. The guards and attendants settled to the side looking at him expectantly. He hadn’t told them why he requested their presence so those who hadn’t learned the art of bland expressions were regarding him with bright curiosity. 

Crowley sat up from the sprawl his body always seemed to want to fall into when sitting, made sure his coronet was on straight, pulled at the lace at his cuffs, smoothed down his waistcoat, and picked at his dark red finery that was worth more than some horses until he realized he was stalling. He had already kept her waiting for some time as he had paced in his room with indecision, and there was no point in dragging things out further. Taking a deep breath he nodded to his Steward, who bowed briefly and left the room. 

Shortly afterwards the doors opened, and Duchess Lucia Morningstar swept in, wearing a dark plum silk gown trimmed in lavender, her gray hair piled high on her head and jewels glittering at her ears and throat. Her steps slowed minutely when she took in Crowley sitting on the dais but she recovered quickly and strode forward, stopping in front of him and inclining her head the barest minimum that would be considered to be polite. 

The old impulse to not speak until spoken to tugged at Crowley, but he refused to give in. He gave her his best sardonic raised eyebrow to hide his apprehension as he said, “You wished to speak with me?”

There was the barest thinning of her lips, then she said, “Yes. There seems to be a… misunderstanding that has resulted in a completely unfounded charge against the Morningstar House. This must be set to rights.”

“Really?” Crowley drawled. “I seem to recall those charges were dropped. I fail to see why you came to me about it.”

The Duchess’s green eyes narrowed at him. “Because that insulting farce has erroneously resulted in a particular… perception about the Morningstar House and it is your duty as family to correct the wrong that has been done to us.”

Crowley briefly closed his eyes at the mix of rage and sorrow that flared up within him. So this was how things were going to be. He didn’t want an audience for this. Sweeping the room with his hand, he said, “I desire to speak to Duchess Morningstar alone. You are all dismissed.”

The retinue bowed and curtsied, disappointment clear that they didn’t get to witness the conclusion of the enticing drama before them. However, the two guards flanking Crowley’s chair made no move to leave and he looked at them.

“You may leave as well.”

One of the guards shook his head. “My apologies, your Highness, but Prince Aziraphale has commanded us to remain by your side.” He leaned towards Crowley and said quietly for his ears only, “If it is of concern, I assure you that we are entirely loyal to you and will be discreet.”

Crowley couldn’t imagine that he was in any physical danger from the Duchess, but he figured that since he had asked Aziraphale not to come it was his husband’s way of soothing his Alpha instincts to make sure he was protected.

He nodded to the guard and turned back to the Duchess, who was regarding him with barely concealed distaste. 

“I daresay that if _family_ meant all that much to you, then you would have treated me as such. I had no active part in the situation you find yourself in but I will certainly do nothing to change it.”

Duchess Lucia narrowed her eyes at him. “I could have shipped you off to one of my distant relatives, but I allowed you to stay. I provided for you, gave you a roof over your head. You owe me.”

“I _owe_ you?” Crowley said incredulously. “How is it, exactly, that I owe you for allowing me to remain in my own father’s house? For forcing me to work as the lowest servant in the house I was born to be a Lord in? To be beaten and even starved by my so-called _family_ to the point that I almost died?”

The Duchess scoffed. “Missing a few meals was hardly my fault; I had assumed that someone else would take care of that. And I scarcely laid a hand on you. Perhaps Ligur was over enthusiastic at times, but boys will be boys, especially Alphas. He can’t be held responsible for his actions.”

Crowley stared at her in utter disbelief. Missing a few meals? Did she really have no idea that as a result of her actions he had almost died? 

“I— it was more than missing meals. I had no food or water for _nearly a week!_ ”

She lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “As I said, an unfortunate oversight. And you appear to be perfectly fine.”

Crowley sat back in his chair, stunned at the enormity of her casual disregard. “As far as Ligur goes, of _course_ he can be held responsible for his actions. I know for a fact, especially now, that even if Ligur had been born a pillocked cocknob, being an Alpha is no excuse for being abusive or cruel. As my stepmother you should have protected me, but you not only allowed him to hit me, you even encouraged him, which was worse. You were absolutely responsible for his behavior.”

“That’s what those outrageous charges against me claimed,” the Duchess spat, color high on her cheeks. “I know you were behind that intolerable farce, you ungrateful, miserable—”

“ _Ungrateful?!_ ” Crowley spoke sharply, cutting her off. “I was your family, but you forced me into servitude, you told me repeatedly I was worthless, unloved, unwanted, punished me, beat me—- and you dare to stand there and tell me I should be _grateful_ that my _family_ did this to me?!”

He stopped and took a deep breath to calm himself. He looked away from her as he said softly “I was a boy grieving for his father. I needed love, I wanted to— could have loved you, if only you could have loved me in return.” 

Through gritted teeth, the Duchess said, “What’s done is done. You still have an obligation to me.” She growled out the words in a sharp biting command. 

Crowley paused, looking within himself for the urge to obey and found… nothing. He slowly looked back at her and shook his head. “No.” 

He blinked in surprise, suddenly realizing that was the first time in his entire life he had ever said no to his stepmother. 

“ _No,_ ” he said louder and more firmly. “I do not, and will _never again_ have an obligation to you. We are done here, you are dismissed.”

He repressed the urge to smirk at the look of outrage on her face that _he_ was dismissing _her_. 

“What? No, this is _unacceptable_ —” she stepped forward, then stopped abruptly as the two guardsman flanking Crowley stepped forward smartly in unison and stopped between the Duchess and Crowley, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords in obvious intent. Crowley’s eyes widened as he took in the unexpected spontaneous show of support.

He looked back at his stepmother. “As I said, you are dismissed,” he drawled.

Duchess Lucia glared at him but spun away and left the reception room, fuming. 

  


As Lucia strode out into the hall her thoughts turned to what she could do next. There were still avenues available to her; words placed into the right listening ears about how unfit the Prince and his Omega husband were to rule, how currying favor from the royals may be unwise as they could easily be overturned by a strong House, led by a strong Alpha... 

She turned to head towards the exit of the palace but a tall dark haired Alpha dressed in the House colors approached her. 

“Prince Aziraphale requests the honor of your presence, your Grace,” the man said with a bow, sweeping his hand towards the opposite direction in the hallway. 

She looked at him, considering, but it would not do to outright refuse a royal summons, and the Prince was harmless. She allowed him to escort her to an unassuming door at which two guards were stationed. The man knocked on the door briefly, then opened it. He bade her to wait a moment and stepped into the room. He came back out shortly and opened the door to her in invitation. As she stepped inside the guards walked past her to resume their stance on either side of Prince Aziraphale as he turned from a bookshelf in his study to regard her. The man who had escorted her to the room backed out with a bow, closing the door.

She curtsied deeply, her head held high as she boldly looked at the prince, who did not so much as incline his head back to her in greeting.

After a moment of silence, the Prince said, “My husband has been far more lenient than you deserve. Perhaps he has a lingering sense of obligation, perhaps it is because despite everything you’ve done to him, he still has a kind heart.”

He stepped closer, his eyes glinting with an expression that held a faint shadow of ferocity that looked out of place on his normally congenial face. “I, however, am not afflicted with either of those qualities in regards to you.” 

The Duchess was unimpressed with the Prince’s posturing. She was well aware of the Prince’s reputation for being soft, a trait most unbecoming for an Alpha, let alone the heir to the throne. She flicked her hand disdainfully at the guards. “If your intent is to arrest me you’ll have no support from the Houses. I broke no laws and it will look ill of royalty to imprison a noble unjustly.”

Aziraphale gave her a grim smile that did not reach his eyes. “Oh you are very much mistaken as to the purpose of the guards in this room, your Grace. They are not here to arrest you.”

He leaned forward as he said with a sharp edge of steel radiating from his voice, “Their sole directive is to prevent me from killing you where you stand.”

Her eyes widened as she stilled, taken aback by the frankness of that threat. She felt a twinge of uneasiness that she quickly disregarded. The Prince was just posturing, he was known for being a meek, soft Alpha, in her opinion entirely unfit to rule.

The Prince closed his eyes briefly, inhaling and then exhaling sharply before continuing. “However, yes, you are correct. Legally, I cannot do anything to you. But I think that you will find that my reach extends beyond the rule of law. As long as I draw breath, you will _never_ regain the favor you once enjoyed. You and your son will be shunned from every aristocratic event that I have a say in. You will find it challenging to locate a vendor willing to extend you credit. Lord Ligur will be hard pressed to find an acceptably titled maiden willing to accept a marriage proposal, thus even the legacy of the Morningstar House will be in jeopardy. With that in mind, you may find it advantageous for your House to start anew in a kingdom other than my own.” 

The Duchess listened to his words with increasing outrage. How _dare_ he threaten her? The Morningstar House was one of the oldest, most respected and powerful Houses in the kingdom and this poor excuse for an Alpha thought that he could bully her just because he was besotted with her worthless stepson? 

“I won’t stand for it, and your threats are empty.” she snapped. “I may have temporarily lost favor with the other Houses, but everyone knows you are weak, that you are unfit for your station, and they will come to realize that having powerful allies is far more important than favor from a weak heir to the throne.”

Aziraphale regarded her dispassionately, crossing his arms.

“And the fact that you’ve chosen a weak insignificant Omega for a mate further worsens your hold on the throne. I should have chained that wretched rat to his bed so that you never would have found him—”

With startling swiftness Aziraphale lunged forward, snarling. The Duchess jumped back despite herself, her hands raised, but as quick as thought the two guards beside the prince flashed their spears down and crossed them in front of the Prince to act as a barricade. Aziraphale strained against the crossed spears, then stepped back, his teeth gritted and hands curled into fists. 

His gaze locked with Lucia as he growled and it was as if the civilized veil dropped from his aspect; a raw Alpha ferocity radiating out from him unlike anything she had ever seen before. Already unsettled, an impulse slammed in her to sink to her knees in submission— her, who had never felt the impulse to submit to anyone in her life. The first trickle of realization that she may have had grossly miscalculated sat heavily in her gut as she froze, staring at the prince.

“If you value your life, you will remain silent!” Prince Aziraphale roared forcefully. 

Lucia’s mouth snapped shut and she barely managed to remain upright as her knees trembled shamefully when she took a shaking step backwards. 

The Prince stepped back, looking away from the Duchess as he walked over to his desk to stand behind it, his hands clenching the edge of the desk as if to keep himself there. His guards followed to position themselves on either side of the desk. Looking down at his desk, the Prince said in a tone that was at odds with the coiled tightness of his body, almost conversational. “I’m sure you are aware that one of my perceived weaknesses is that I enjoy reading in my spare time, instead of hunting, or participating in sports, or other aggressive pursuits that Alpha’s are supposed to enjoy. 

But you may be interested to know that I’ve recently been doing some reading about snakes. Fascinating creatures. Did you know that there is a snake called a Krait that lives in the dry climates in the northern hemisphere? They’re nocturnal, and are curious by nature, which compels them to find their way into houses at night. What’s unique about them is their bite doesn’t hurt; no more than a mosquito bite, so when the victim goes to sleep, unaware they have been bitten, the venom slowly works through their system, causing a progressive paralysis. It’s actually treatable if the antidote is available, but even if the victim manages to wake from slumber it’s often too late as the paralysis prevents them from calling out for help as they slowly suffocate to death.”

Prince Aziraphale suddenly looked directly at her, with a cold glint to his eyes that caused a chill of icy fingers to trickle down her spine, causing goosebumps to erupt with a suddenness that shot painful pinpricks down her arms. 

“Of course, Krait’s are not indigenous to this area, so there’s no cause to be concerned about them. Although I must remember to ask my northern trade partners about them, it would make for a most enlightening conversation, I’m sure.”

The Duchess found her voice, although she internally cursed that it came out thin and lacking in her usual confidence. She looked at the guards. “You— you can’t get away with threatening me— if anything happens to me, there are always wagging tongues, you won’t get away with murder.”

The Prince raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean James and Robert? Although I am utterly assured of their loyalty, I’m no fool. They have wax in their ears and have no idea what’s being said in this room.” He inclined his head. “But perhaps you’re right. Perhaps a rare venomous snake, should it be discovered, may be viewed as suspicious by some. But it just so happens that in this same region there can be found a tiny parasite that lives in the water. If an unfortunate soul happens to drink that water, the parasite finds its way to the host’s eyes and as a result the host goes blind, which is a permanent condition, I’m afraid. And untraceable as to the cause, as the affliction can only be diagnosed by removing the eye and looking at it under a microscope. Most unfortunate indeed, as a blind suitor would have a very difficult time securing a betrothal. On a completely unrelated note, I’m told your son is quite fond of drinking at pubs, and not at all particular about what he drinks there.”

His eyes bored into the Duchess, his words edged with command. “But I digress. I’m sure you must be quite bored listening to me prattle on about inconsequential things. The reason I brought you here is to tell you that it would behove those out of my favor to move away, out of my reach. And make no mistake madam, my reach is _very_ far indeed.” 

He paused, then looked down at his desk, sitting down in his chair as he picked up some papers. “I have other duties to attend to and I believe that our time together must come to an end.”

Floundering with the astonishing realization that the world as she knew it had suddenly tilted into a dark mirror, with sharp edges poised to slash her life into ribbons, the Duchess looked away and took a shaky step towards the door.

“Duchess Morningstar, one last thing.”

The Duchess paused and looked back into blue eyes that radiated cold fury. 

“Allow me to make one thing perfectly clear so that there are no misunderstandings between us. If you or your son ever set foot anywhere near my husband ever again, the next time we meet my guards will not be present.”

After meeting with the Duchess Crowley felt the need to burn off the unsettling energy that simmered under his skin, so he quickly changed into plain clothes and then went out to his greenhouse, currently under construction by a handful of workers busily putting together a wooden frame. Crowley found a great deal of satisfaction in the opportunity to do some hands-on work, and flashed a grin at the foreman who had reluctantly given up on protesting when the Prince decided to join the workers. 

Not long after, Aziraphale found him there, where he had been strenuously digging and leveling the ground in front of the wooden frame to prepare for an inlaid stone pathway. Crowley looked up from his digging and smiled in welcome, pulling his shirt away from the damp line of sweat making its way down his chest. As Aziraphale came closer he held up a hand. 

“Might not want to get too close; I’m filthy,” he warned, eyeing Aziraphale’s fine cream colored clothing. 

Aziraphale paused, his eyes widening as he looked him over. Crowley looked down at himself ruefully. The dirt and dust did indeed cling to his sweat dampened shirt in the center of his chest and small of his back and on his sweaty skin, which gleamed in the late afternoon sun. 

Aziraphale’s nostrils flared as Crowley’s scent hit his nose, intensified by the musky sweat. His eyes briefly closed as he inhaled deeply. 

“Coming to check on me? I’m all right, went better than I expected, really.” Crowley glanced around at the workers within earshot. “I’ll tell you about it at dinner tonight.” 

“Dinner?” Aziraphale repeated blankly, taking another step closer as his eyes remained fixed on Crowley. 

Crowley cocked his head in puzzlement as he leaned on his shovel. “You said we would have dinner together tonight. Did something come up?” 

“Oh, right, yes, dinner,” Aziraphale said distractedly. 

Crowley looked at him in concern. “Is everything all right?” 

“Yes, perfectly fine, I just…” Aziraphale trailed off, then said “Oh good _Lord_ , just _look_ at you,” he said thickly, gesturing to him helplessly. 

Crowley looked down at himself, then back up at Aziraphale with one eyebrow raised. His puzzled expression shifted into a smirk as he took in the heated look in his husband’s eyes. 

“ _Oh_. You _like_ seeing me filthy, do you?” He held Aziraphale’s gaze as he stretched languorously like a cat. 

Aziraphale shook his head slightly in admonishment, even as his pink tongue darted out as if to taste the air. “Unless you want me to pin you down on your back in front of everyone here my dear, I suggest you don’t push it.” 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale coyly through his lashes. “Oh, no, we can’t have his Royal Highness losing control. Perhaps I should go inside to clean up? Peel off my clothes and wash my naked body clean of every drop of smelly sweat, every streak of dirt?” 

“Oh, don’t you _dare_ ,” Aziraphale growled and suddenly surged forward, throwing one arm around Crowley’s waist, the other on his upper back, and dipped him, pressing his mouth hard against Crowley’s in a deep kiss. Crowley made a noise of surprise, the shovel falling to the ground heedlessly, but he quickly wrapped his arms around his Alpha and returned his kiss just as heatedly. 

After a long moment of kissing his husband senseless Aziraphale managed to remember their surroundings and brought Crowley back upright, glancing at the nearby workers who quickly looked away, pretending they hadn’t just been watching the entertaining sight of the princes snogging each other. 

There were spots of color high on his cheeks as Aziraphale mock glared at Crowley who grinned at him unrepentantly. 

“So, that’s a no to a bath then?” 

Aziraphale stepped in close and whispered against Crowley’s ear, “ _No_. Not before I can rub my own scent over Every. Single. Inch. of your body.” He nipped at Crowley’s earlobe then said, “In fact, if you don’t get to our bedchamber in a _very_ short amount of time I don’t know that I’ll be able to restrain myself much longer from taking you right here.” 

Crowley shivered with delight as he murmured, “Oh no. How much time do I have?” 

Aziraphale took another deep breath of Crowley’s scent. “Maybe a minute. Less, if you need time to remove your clothes so that I don’t rip them off of you.” 

Crowley’s shiver turned into an outright shudder as he keened softly. He pressed a hard fast kiss to Aziraphale’s mouth then stepped back with a grin and said “Come and get me,” turning and breaking into a run, with Aziraphale hot on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm a bit sad to see this story draw to a close; it's my favorite so far and I've had so much fun writing it. It will be wrapped up in the next chapter and completed unless there is a request for bonus content._
> 
> _Aside from Omen of the Lamp and Summoning Desire mentioned at the end of the last chapter, here are teasers of my other works in progress:_
> 
> _**Of Feathered Fancies:** 4 chapter wing fic. Crowley agrees to groom Aziraphale which leads to certain feelings that neither of them expect. _
> 
> _**Half Formed Thought:** 23 chapters. Crowley discovered that Aziraphale had never been kissed, so he kisses him impulsively to show him what it’s like. They both shocked at the never before felt feelings that stirs up, and there is a slow progression into their physical relationship as well as somewhat of a breakup they have to recover from. This is actually the very first fic I ever wrote and I should really finish it, but it feels like letting go of my baby into the world. :)_
> 
> _**A Gleam of Water Darkly:** Currently 17 chapters but will be longer. 1700’s, Pirate Crowley kidnaps Aziraphale because he has something he needs to help him on a quest. Fantasy AU, with water spirit mythology. This has very strong dominant/ submissive tones to it and goes a bit dark in some areas._
> 
> _**The Lessons:** Outline in progress, a few chapters written. Set in the 1800’s. Gabriel purchases a contract for the services of a courtesan (Crowley) for his little brother Aziraphale, much to Aziraphale’s chagrin, who finds the idea of paying for intimacy distasteful. But they come to an arrangement for Crowley to teach Aziraphale the tricks of the trade in order to to be more appealing to a potential wife to secure a heir. You can imagine where it goes from there._


	24. Happily Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And it’s finally finished!! 24 chapters, 117,293 words and over 5 months of posting weekly. As well as 367 kudos and 394 comment threads, thank you So Much for each and every one!_
> 
> _My Saturday’s are going to feel so bereft for a while until I get something finished enough to start posting again! This story has been delightful to write, and I have absolutely adored the interactive flavor of it, as I was able to add several suggestions from you wonderful readers. Thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart, you have been such a bright spot for me in these difficult times. I will miss you all and hope to hear from you again in the future._
> 
> _A special thank you goes to D3s3rtb0undN3k0matta for looking this over to help catch typos and smooth out some of the edges._

True to her word, the Queen spared Hester the fate of the Morningstar House and extended an invitation for her to join the Queen’s retinue of ladies in waiting. Upon hearing of it, Crowley wondered how enamored Hester was of the idea of being a glorified servant to the Queen, but as it would have been a grave insult to decline without a very good reason, Hester accepted and moved into the palace. 

He hesitated to approach her at first, but Hester had undergone a transformation since the scandal of her mother’s trial. She was far more quiet and subdued than Crowley had ever seen her. After a time, he extended an invitation to take lunch with him and was surprised, but cautiously optimistic, by how eagerly she accepted. 

The first few times they met their interactions were somewhat stilted as they both tried to figure out what their relationship was going to be like now. But he could tell that Hester was making an effort, and he took the time to meet her for tea as regularly as her handmaiden duties allowed. 

As the winter weather precluded taking tea outside, they met for tea in one of the royal family’s sitting rooms that was bedecked in evergreen boughs trimmed with red ribbon for the upcoming Christmas holiday. Hester laughed hysterically over Crowley’s tale of the wig stealing goose, which she hadn’t been home to witness.

“You’re right, Lady Branwright certainly deserved it,” Hester said, wiping her eyes. “Did you know she was behind that vicious rumor about my friend Sarah supposedly having a hidden child out of wedlock in an effort to break up her engagement to Lord Brandon? It wasn’t true in the slightest, that wicked woman was trying to maneuver prospects for her niece who was overly long on the marriage market. That goose was the least amount of poetic justice that she deserved.”

At her last statement Hester faltered, and a look of shame came across her face. She hesitated, then darted her hand out to lay over Crowley’s. 

She took a breath, then said “I’m— sorry. I know that’s not nearly enough to make up for— everything, but please know that I am.”

Crowley nodded and looked down at their hands. He turned his palm up to squeeze hers briefly, then let go and looked up into Hester’s brown eyes. “Thank you. It’s a start.”

~*~O~*~

The slight breeze coming in from the open patio doors off their bedchamber did little to relieve the oppressive heat of the summer day. Aziraphale had forgone his coat in concession of the weather and was thinking wistfully of the freedom the lower classes had in dressing in far fewer layers than what he felt obligated to wear.

As he stepped into their bedchamber he spotted his husband. “Ah, there you are my dear, I was looking for you.” Aziraphale stopped in the middle of the room, his eyebrows raised. “What on earth are you doing?”

Crowley stopped trying to rub against the frame of the balcony door like a cat. “I have an itch on my back that I can’t reach,” he said, not bothering to keep the whine from his voice.

Aziraphale’s expression softened. “Come here my love. Let me take care of that for you.”

Crowley walked over, grumbling, “I used to be able to twist around to scratch my own back.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said sympathetically as he scratched Crowley’s back over his loose linen shirt.

“Lower. And I’m so hot! Whose stupid idea was it to be this pregnant during the middle of the summer?!”

“Mmm, I seem to recall that your only request for a Christmas present was for me to get you with child, so if you do the math…”

“Oh, shut up and keep scratching. Oohhh, to the left, down, harder, yessss.” Crowley closed his eyes in ecstasy as he leaned into Aziraphale’s strong fingers, then sighed in relief, turning into his husband’s arms who leaned over the large swell of his belly to kiss him.

“That was a truly memorable Christmas night.”

“Heh, yeah it was. I’ll never look at garland the same way again.”

Crowley chased Aziraphale’s lips to draw him into a deep and lingering kiss before Aziraphale pulled back. “Mmm, before I let you have your wicked way with me again I was looking for you to tell you something.”

“My wicked way!” Crowley exclaimed in mock outrage. “S’not my fault I’ve got all of these raging hormones. It’s your fault, in fact, and as such it’s your duty to fulfill your husband’s cravings; everything from pickled beets and cheesecake to your hands all over me.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Although I still shudder at the sight of you eating that atrocious combination I will always love putting my hands all over my gorgeous husband. Especially here,” he said, caressing the large swell of Crowley’s belly.

“I’m as big as a mountain,” Crowley complained, secretly pleased at his Alpha’s possessive touch. 

“You’re beautiful,” Aziraphale countered. He glanced at the clock. “And as much as I would love to show to you how irresistible you are to me, it’s the middle of the day, and I’m supposed to meet with the Quartermaster to review the military provisions for the next year. I just came by for a short visit to talk to you.”

Crowley pouted, nuzzling into Aziraphale’s neck and nipping at his skin. “What’s a poor Omega to do without his Alpha to take care of him?” He let out a little sigh, making sure to gust his breath over the sensitive skin on Aziraphale’s neck, hiding his smile at feeling the shiver that went down his Alpha’s body. 

“I guess I’ll just have to take care of my own needs,” Crowley continued as he deepened his nuzzling into sucking kisses on his Alpha’s neck. “Will you even think of me when you’re meeting with that boring old Quartermaster? Of me touching myself, like this?” He reached out to take hold of Aziraphale’s hand and place it against his hardening cock. 

Aziraphale groaned, “Crowley…”, even as he readily curled his fingers around Crowley’s erection through his loose trousers. 

Crowley pushed his hips into his husband’s hand. “Yes, Alpha?” he asked sweetly.

Aziraphale’s voice lowered to a husky growl as he tightened his hand around Crowley’s cock and stroked it. “You know I don’t have time for this, you greedy creature. It’s bad enough how almost unbearably sexy you are carrying our child. You’re fortunate I have enough self restraint to allow you leave our bed at all.”

“Mmmmm,” Crowley practically purred, his eyes half lidded as he leaned into Aziraphale. “Prove it,” he demanded. 

Aziraphale shook his head with a chuckle and gave in. “Oh, you tempting serpent of mine. Challenge accepted.” He swiftly bent down and swept Crowley up in his arms easily, magnanimously ignoring the smug smirk on Crowley’s face. 

Despite the possessiveness with which Aziraphale handled him he laid Crowley down gently on their bed. He pushed Crowley’s shirt up over the mound of his belly, nuzzling the exposed taut flesh. Crowley stretched and sighed under his Alpha’s touch, then sat up enough to impatiently pull his shirt off over his head. 

Aziraphale chuckled. “So needy. Have I been neglecting you, my darling?” He palmed Crowley’s erection, shifting up to kiss him deeply. Crowley didn’t bother replying as he pushed his hips forward into Aziraphale’s hand with a contented hum.

Aziraphale pulled away to remove Crowley’s trousers, then stood and began removing his clothes. “Let me see you touch yourself while I watch, my darling boy.”

Crowley’s hand drifted down to lazily stroke himself, his other hand caressing his rounded belly in a manner he knew drove his husband crazy. Sure enough, the methodical way Aziraphale normally removed his clothes sped up, although he still took the time to neatly drape them over the back of a chair before crawling onto the bed.

He knelt between Crowley’s legs and ran his palms along the top of Crowley’s thighs, then moved downward, keeping his touches feather light as he caressed his husband’s sensitive inner thighs and tightening bollocks. He then slid down tantalizingly close to his entrance before moving his hands away again in a gliding caress. Crowley drew his knees up, shifting restlessly.

 _“Angel…”_ he whined. 

“Hmm. Not in the mood for foreplay, my darling?” Aziraphale teased. “But wouldn’t I be remiss in my husbandly duties if I didn’t take my time to savor you like the precious treasure you are?” 

“I’m in the mood for your husbandly duty of being inside of me, the sooner the better.” Crowley retorted, as he pulled Aziraphale up to kiss him hungrily. 

Aziraphale returned his kiss, then pulled back and said with a smile, “Well then, far be it from me to fail in my duties to you, my darling. Roll over.”

Crowley rolled to his side, his favored position since he had gotten so large. Aziraphale placed a pillow in between Crowley’s knees to help support his hips which had a tendency to ache in the last few months, then once he was satisfied his husband was comfortable, settled behind him. He pressed his lips to Crowley’s neck and shoulder as he used his fingers to breach Crowley’s entrance. Despite his complaining, Crowley relaxed with a sigh into the delicious sensation of his Alpha taking care of him, the slow build of pleasure as broad fingers stroked him and the welcome presence of his mate behind him satisfying a different kind of itch.

This late into his pregnancy he had increased sensations of pressure and fullness in the lower part of his body that seemed to be sending semi-constant signals to his brain that he was aroused. While he thought it was somewhat ridiculous for his body to be craving sex this much when he was already pregnant, Aziraphale was certainly willing to oblige his cravings, even if the bastard had to gall to tease him about it.

When Crowley’s breathing increased to breathy moans he reached back to tug Aziraphale closer to him in a clear message. Aziraphale replaced his fingers with his cock, nudging in his cockhead slowly, then grasped Crowley’s hip to thrust in the rest of the way with a snap of his pelvis, causing both of them to moan at the sudden spike in pleasure. Holding onto Crowley’s hip firmly, Aziraphale set a steady pace. 

“Do you want my hand or the pillow again?” Aziraphale murmured as he pressed a sucking kiss to Crowley’s neck.

Crowley twisted around awkwardly to kiss him. “Pillow.”

Aziraphale reached up to hand Crowley a narrow firm pillow that was intended to be a decorative bed accessory. Crowley covered it with the handkerchief from the bedside table and settled it between his thighs, holding it firmly against his straining cock. While trying different pillow arrangements for Crowley’s comfort during intercourse they had discovered that Crowley found a firm pillow to push into was exquisitely pleasurable while Aziraphale placed a firm hand on his hip and took him from behind. 

Today was no different as Crowley shuddered deliciously at the dual sensations. Even his cock seemed more sensitive lately and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to last much longer. He closed his eyes with a long drawn out moan, as his pleasure mounted with the steady rhythm of Aziraphale moving inside of him, the heavy possessive clamp of his Alpha’s hand on his hip, the friction of the pillow between his thighs, _oh_ it was good, _so_ good…

“Look at you, you gorgeous creature,” came Aziraphale’s low voice behind him, husky with arousal. “It feels so good to be inside you, like you were made for me. I love you needy for me like this, makes me want to confine you to the bed and wring an endless string of orgasms out of you until you’re pliant and satiated, and then coax even more out of your deliciously responsive body.”

Crowley moaned louder, his breath catching as Aziraphale gave him a particularly firm thrust. He felt teeth scrape against his neck as Aziraphale sucked in a bruising kiss.

“Tell me…” Crowley said breathlessly.

As usual, Aziraphale knew what he needed. “You’re _mine_ ,” he growled against his neck, sending shivers down Crowley’s overheated skin. “You belong to me, body and soul.” His hand tightened over Crowley’s sweaty hip. “And _oh God_ , I belong to you, forever— _oh_ , darling I’m so close, _oh_ , are you—?”

Crowley pressed the pillow more firmly against his cock. “ _Yes_ , Alpha, take me.”

Aziraphale sped up, deep quick thrusts that caused Crowley to make increasingly high pitched breathless sounds until he cried out with his climax, his body shaking and his entrance clenching around Aziraphale who let out a hoarse shout as he, too, fell over the edge, his hips snapping into Crowley as he shuddered and fell apart. 

They stayed joined for a minute as they caught their breaths, then Crowley wiggled away, flopping onto his back. “Ugh. I love you but you’re too hot.”

Aziraphale chuckled as he admired the sweaty sheen of Crowley’s nude body. “I see. Now that you’re done with me shall I take my leave until my husband has need of my services again?”

Crowley pretended to consider it, flapping a hand towards himself in an effort to cool off. “Nah. I think I need to expand your services to include being my new royal back scratcher, so you’ll need to be at my beck and call at all times to service me whenever I have an itch.”

Aziraphale leaned over and blew a long breath over Crowley’s upper body to help cool him down. “Hmm. Then consider me hired and ready to service any itch your Highness might have,” he said with a smirk.

Crowley stretched appreciatively. “Hmm. I have an itch for one of those dark chocolate tarts that we had at Hester’s wedding last weekend. Mmm, and the lemon ones, those were good. Oh, and those crunchy almond things, I want those too.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “You sound like me. I never knew you to like food this much before you were pregnant.”

Crowley waved his hand unconcernedly. “It’s not me, it’s the baby. _I_ never thought I would attend Hester’s wedding to a _baker_ of all people. Hester, who used to have her nose so high in the air you could almost see up her nostrils.”

“Yes, I daresay she seems to have blossomed into quite a pleasant young lady. And you are right, those desserts at her wedding were simply scrumptious. We must have her husband make some of those for the reception following our child’s naming ceremony.”

“Mmm, sounds great,” Crowley hummed in agreement. He laboriously sat up and reached for his clothes. “Don’t you think it strange that my stepmother and Ligur didn’t attend the wedding? I thought for sure they would come back for that. I still can’t believe they suddenly up and moved away. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s easier to not have to see them at social functions, but the Morningstar House had been here for centuries. Hester said it was something about investments in another kingdom they wanted to pursue, but don’t you think it’s odd?”

“Hmm, yes,” Aziraphale said noncommittally. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed to sit next to Crowley. “Oh, right. Before you distracted me with your irresistible charms I came with news.”

Crowley turned to look at him as he pulled his tunic down over his head.

“The High Council passed the vote for Omegas having the same protective rights against abuse as Betas and Alphas.”

“Oh!” Crowley said excitedly. “And what about the law that prevents Omega’s from inheriting?”

Aziraphale grimaced and shook his head. “Sadly, they did not approve that proposal. Gabriel was right, that was unlikely, at this point in time anyway. These changes won’t happen overnight my darling, and although I will keep trying we should celebrate the small victories as they come.”

Crowley frowned. “But if our child is an Omega they can’t inherit the throne. That’s not right.”

Aziraphale put his arms around his husband. “I know. I don’t like it any better than you do. And I promise you that I’ll keep working on this. But if we push too hard they’ll dig in their heels even harder.”

Crowley sighed. “Yes, all right.” He leaned forward to kiss Aziraphale. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I am very happy. I know this is a huge step in the right direction, and I’m so very grateful and proud of you for working so hard to make this happen.”

Aziraphale said. “The credit goes to you my dear, for opening my closed eyes to the truth of what needed to be done.”

They smiled at each other, then Aziraphale leaned down and nipped Crowley’s shoulder. “You’ve made me all sweaty, you reprobate. I need to wash up, and then go meet with the Quartermaster and apologize for my tardiness. But, tell you what, I can clear the rest of my day and then it’s early enough— how about we go to the lake? I can arrange for something simple for a picnic dinner and you can go into the lake to cool off.”

Crowley smiled delightedly. “That sounds perfect. It will give you some time to recover before I have my way with you again on the shore.”

Aziraphale groaned, flopping back on the bed and flinging an arm over his eyes. “Oh, you are going to be the death of me, you insatiable devil.”

~*~O~*~

After politely but firmly ushering the last person out the door, including Tracy who kept up an nonstop excited stream of chatter, Aziraphale shut the door and locked it. He seriously considered wedging a chair underneath the door handle as his protective Alpha instincts seethed within him, which had already been making it very difficult for him not to bare his teeth in a snarl at everyone who was in the room earlier. He managed to convince himself that the lock would be sufficient and he walked back over to the bed, sliding in next to his husband. 

Crowley looked at him with a smile, tired but glowing with happiness. Aziraphale pressed a loving kiss to his temple and then they both looked down at the tiny bundle in Crowley’s arms that kicked ineffectually at the swaddling. 

“Mmm. I don’t think she likes to be swaddled.”

“She’s only an hour old, angel, I dunno that she’s old enough to know what she likes.”

They watched as their daughter scrunched up her tiny face and wiggled, fussing with tiny infant sounds of frustration until she managed to pull out an arm from the swaddle. She then quieted down, golden eyes unfocused as she looked around while waving her arm. 

“All right, maybe you’re right,” Crowley said fondly. “Ooo, watch this, I did this with Owen when he was a baby.” He placed a finger into the tiny flailing hand and she instantly curled her fingers around it. He smiled. “Anathema told me it was some kind of reflex but it feels sweet, like we’re holding hands. Here, you do it.”

Crowley pulled his finger away and Aziraphale placed his finger against the tiny palm, marveling as her fingers curled around his. “Oh, goodness, you have quite a strong grip there, my darling girl,” he cooed at her.

Crowley smiled. “I think that might be a hint of her personality. I know that it’s hard to tell this early, but smell her and tell me what you think.”

Aziraphale bent down close to the head of fine bright red hair and took a deep breath. “Oh! She’s an Alpha!”

“Yep,” Crowley said smugly. 

Aziraphale looked at him. “You know that I would have loved her no matter what her secondary gender was.”

Crowley kissed him. “Yes, I know. But old habits die hard and I can’t help feeling like I’ve somehow been extra good for my Alpha, so let me preen a little.”

Aziraphale chuckled, sliding his arm around his husband and nuzzling his neck and inhaling his scent of spiced apples. “Preen all you want my darling, I am very, very pleased and delighted with you and with our beautiful daughter that you bore for us.”

Crowley hummed in contentment as he gently stroked their daughter’s head. “You got your wish, red hair, although it’s quite a bit brighter than mine.”

“For all that I’m delighted that she has red hair, my true wish, before I ever knew it, was to have a real family, and that, my dearest, darling who I love more than anything in the world, I owe entirely to you.”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley sighed, his eyes shimmering as he looked down at their daughter. “Welcome to our family precious girl.”

Tomorrow there would be royal announcements and formal celebrations in honor of the birth of the princess, but for tonight the world was quiet as the new family welcomed their daughter with all of the love in their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chexpet: I had Hester marry a baker, per your request! (They pointed out that Hester married a baker in the second animated Cinderella movie)_
> 
> _I’m not normally into pregnant spicy scenes, but that’s where the story naturally went, and I am but a vehicle for my muse at times. And although I’ve known women that felt that sex was the last thing they wanted to do while pregnant, I’ve also known several that experienced this maddening desire to frequently indulge in their second or third trimester of pregnancy, so I thought that would be fun to write about._
> 
> _Stay safe (wear a mask!!) and thank you again, my lovely readers._

**Author's Note:**

> _As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated like the treasures they are; I adore them and they encourage me to keep writing. Ask me anything; questions about the story, my writing process, fanfiction. I’m always working on improving my writing, so I welcome suggestions for improvement, fixing continuity errors, requests for exploring something in an upcoming chapter, bonus content, or even suggestions to fix typos._
> 
> _Other Good Omens stories of mine:[An Opportune Storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22609303/chapters/54034240), 2 chapters. [Teach Me Your Lessons, Teach Me Your Touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302003), 1 chapter. Both pure spicy fluff about Crowley and Aziraphale's first time being intimate together, if you like that sort of thing. Which I do. Which is why I wrote it. _
> 
> [Summoning Desire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29323836), 1 chapter demon summoning kink fic.
> 
> _[Jagged Edge of Seduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22989973/chapters/54963736), 18 chapters, mind the tags and warning._
> 
> _I love to chat about anything Good Omens; my writing, your writing, whether or not ducks have ears...! Feel free to chat or follow me on Tumblr: @ajconstantine;[AJ Constantine](https://ajconstantine.tumblr.com/) or on Discord: AJ Constantine#0325_


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